JOSEPH  CONROY,S.J. 


A  MILL  TOWN  PASTOR 


Books  by  Father  Conroy 

Published  by  Benziger  Brothers 

OUT  TO  WIN 

STRAIGHT  TALKS  TO  BOYS  ON  THE  WAY 
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CONTENTS. — Bill  Wakes  Up — The  Devil's  Peri- 
scope— Be  Bold — Follow  Your  Interference — 
Feathers  and  Lead — Come,  Fido — Get  Along 
With  Yourself — A  Boy  With  the  Punch — Break 
in  Somewhere — A  Friend  of  Boys — Patting  Mud 
Pies — Bogus  Money — Loose  Wires — Speed  and 
Oranges. 

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CONTENTS. — The  Son  of  His  Father — Nagging 
Eddie — Anybody  at  Home — Murder  in  the 
Third  Act — Where  is  Father — Untold  Agony — 
Merely  a  Detail— Children,  be  Seated — Bringing 
Them  Down — Don't  Mention  It— The  Family 
Footpad — Diamond  Cut  Diamond;  etc.,  etc. 

A  MILL  TOWN  PASTOR 

STORY  OF  A  WITTY  AND  VALIANT  PRIEST 

8vo.    Net  $1.75.  Postage  15  cents. 

This  is  the  story  of  a  priest  told  in  a  most 
lively  fashion,  full  of  humor  and  sparkling  wit 
and  keen  insight,  as  gay  as  it  is  penetrating; 
and  of  a  very  real  priest,  Father  Daniel  Coffey, 
•who  shaped  the  spiritual  destinies  of  a  little  mill 
town  in  Ohio.  It  is  a  book  one  will  want  to 
read  through  at  a  sitting,  and  come  back  to  it 
again  for  its  sheer  delight. 


A  MILL  TOWN  PASTOR 

THE  STORY  OF  A  WITTY  AND 
VALIANT  PRIEST 


BY 


REV.  JOSEPH  P.  CONROY,  S.J. 


SANTA    BARBARA.   CAUF, 


Students  Library 


Santa  Barbara,  Caiifc 

NEW  YOHK        CINCINNATI        CHICAGO 

BENZIGER  BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS  OF  BENZIGER'S  MAGAZINE^C* 
1921 


3myrimi  JJutrsL 

FRANCIS  X.  McMENAMY,  S.J., 

Praep.  Prov.  Missourianiae 


Nthil  (Dbstat 

ARTHUR  J.  SCANLAN,  S.T.D., 

Censor  Librorum 


•fr  PATRICK  J.  HAYES,  D.D., 

Archbishop  of  New  York 


NEW  YORK,  January  28,  1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY  BEKZIOER  BROTHERS 

1 1  ?>8fi 


TO  THE  DIOCESAN  PRIESTS 

WHOM  I  HAVE  MET  UPON  THE  MISSIONS 

IN  ADMIRATION  OP  THEIR  ZEAL  AND  ABILITY 

AND  IN  GRATEFUL  RECOGNITION 

OP  MANY  KINDNESSES 

THIS  SKETCH  OP  ONE  OF  THEM 

IS  RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED 

BY  THE  AUTHOR 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I  White  and  Black 

II  At  Home      ... 

Ill  The  Ladders  of  School  .      . 

IV  College  Days       .... 

V  Some  Letters       .... 

VI  Toward  the  Altar     .      .      . 

VII  Early  Days  in  the  Ministry 

VIII  Another  Tunnel .... 

IX  The  Mills  of  Men    .      .     . 

X  Spreading  Sail   .... 

XI  He  Had  Compassion    . 

XII  A  Portrait  and  a  Walk     . 

XIII  A  Parish  of  Peace  . 

XIV  Straws 

XV  The  Little  Ones      . 

XVI  An  Adventure  in  Oil    . 

XVII  A  Sea  Change    .      .     .     , 

XVIII  Trade  Till  I  Come  .      .      . 

XIX  The  Last  Road  . 


PAGE 


A  MILLTOWN   PASTOR 

CHAPTER  I 
WHITE  AND  BLACK 

"\7ESSUH,  the  platform's  right  here, 
I  suh." 

I  took  my  two  bags  from  the  porter,  stepped 
off  the  train  and  plunged  down  into  five  feet 
of  snow. 

When  I  emerged  and  got  something  like  my 
bearings,  all  I  could  see  through  a  clear  spot  on 
my  glasses  was  that  porter.  His  eyes  had 
rolled  into  two  astonished  little  snowballs. 

"Is  this  the  platform  I'm  on,  porter?"  I 
asked,  through  a  mouthful  of  snow.  The 
question  was  intended  to  be  severe. 

"No  suh,  I  don't  guess  it  is,  suh,"  said  he. 

"I  should  say  it  isn't,"  I  retorted,  with  what 
was  meant  for  ironic  repartee.  The  porter 
never  answered  the  crushing  remark.  I  knew 
he  was  going  to  laugh  out  loud  as  soon  as  he 
got  inside. 

The  train  pulled  out  and  I  was  left  stand- 


10  White  and  Black 

ing  almost  neck  deep  in  a  world  of  snow  and 
freighted  with  two  bags  that  had  to  be  landed 
somewhere. 

Cautiously  I  settled  the  two  bags  at  my  feet, 
rubbed  more  snow  off  my  glasses  and  looked 
about.  Great  hills  of  whirling  snow  to  my 
right,  off  across  where  I  knew  the  river  was. 
To  my  left,  more  hills  of  snow,  with  bulges  of 
snow  scattered  over  them  and  gathered  at 
their  base.  This  was  the  town.  In  the  center, 
just  before  me,  and  rising  stark  against  the 
whiteness,  the  huge  stacks  of  the  mills  were 
silhouetted,  like  black  fingers  reaching  up  to 
grasp  at  the  sky.  Nothing  else  in  sight. 

"Are  you  the  Father  that's  going  to  give 
the  mission?"  I  heard  a  young  voice  say. 

"Hello!"  I  answered,  looking  about.  Over 
near  a  round  bulge  that  formerly  was  the  sta- 
tion I  saw  two  faces  peering  over  a  snow 
trench.  They  were  two  boys. 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "If  I  can  ever  get  far 
enough  out  of  this  to  start  something.  But 
how  am  I  going  to  get  out  of  here?" 

"You'll  have  to  get  over  where  we  are, 
Father.  The  ground's  smooth.  Just  walk  it 
and  we  have  a  path  the  rest  of  the  way  up." 

It  was  only  some  twenty  feet  to  go.  I 
waded  the  distance  and  sure  enough  saw  the 


White  and  Black  11 

path,  hitherto  invisible,  and  back  on  the  path 
two  toy  sleds  waiting  for  my  bags.  I  handed 
up  the  bags,  scrambled  up  on  the  platform, 
shook  hands  with  the  boys,  placed  the  bags  on 
the  sleds,  and  we  began  our  climb ;  for  we  had  to 
climb  every  foot  of  the  way.  John  went  first 
with  bag  and  sled  number  one.  Vincent  sec- 
ond with  bag  and  sled  number  two,  and  I 
brought  up  the  rear,  puffing  and  vapory,  like 
the  steam  calliope  in  the  circus  parade.  We 
wound  around  and  up,  and  up  and  around,  and 
finally  straight  up.  Snow  on  all  sides  of  us, 
but  for  John  and  Vincent  it  was  the  great  ad- 
venture. They  kept  talking,  shouting,  boss- 
ing each  other  all  the  way,  without  a  sign  of 
fatigue,  until  at  last  a  little  run,  a  shove  ex- 
traordinary, and — 

"Welcome,  Father,  to  the  top  of  Mount 
Ararat.  You  have  Noah  beaten.  He  came 
down  here  out  of  the  rain,  but  you  climbed  up 
through  the  snow.  Isn't  it  grand  weather  for 
the  mission?  Now  beat  it  you,  John  and  Vin- 
cent, and  change  your  clothes  or  you'll  get 
your  death  of  cold.  Don't  give  them  any- 
thing, Father.  They're  working  for  the  mis- 
sion. Well,  go  along  with  you  now.  Come 
right  in,  Father,  and  we'll  shovel  the  snow  off 
you.  Such  a  lovely  day  1" 


12  White  and  Black 

I  shook  hands  with  Father  Coffey,  pastor  of 
St.  Agnes'  Church  in  Mingo  Junction,  and  be- 
gan my  first  mission  there  that  night. 

The  memory  of  that  mission  will  be  with  me 
always.  Not  that  there  was  anything  the  least 
pretentious  about  the  externals  of  the  place. 
It  was  not  a  spacious  structure  of  romantic 
glooms  and  alluring  vistas.  It  was  merely  a 
little  wooden,  smoke-battered  church,  with  a 
rectory  no  whit  more  luxurious,  and  a  school 
building  and  a  Sisters'  house  copied  from  no 
Venetian  palace. 

All  four  buildings  were  on  the  slope  of  a 
steep  hill  with  the  church  at  the  top.  There 
was  more  of  the  hill  above  the  church,  but  my 
surmise  is  that  the  original  builders  got  too 
tired  to  carry  the  lumber  any  further  up  the 
hill  and  stopped  while  they  had  strength 
enough  left  to  go  on  with  the  construction. 
They  never  imagined  perhaps  that  the  day 
would  come  when  others  would  build  even  far- 
ther up  the  hill  to  its  very  top  and  then  out  over 
the  flat  land  that  breaks  there. 

It  was  not  the  costly  architecture  that  im- 
pressed me.  It  was  the  people.  The  first 
notable  thing  was  the  way  they  attended  that 
mission  through  weather  that  would  bother  the 
monks  of  St.  Bernard.  The  snow  continued 


White  and  Black  13 

for  days  and  it  was  humorously  edifying  to  see 
half  the  congregation  stumble  up  to  the  church 
and  the  other  half  slide  down  to  it.  As  early 
as  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  they  could  be 
seen  in  the  half  light  making  their  laborious 
way  toward  the  church  and  three  times  a  day 
thereafter  various  groups  made  the  journey 
forth  and  back.  Going  home,  of  course,  the 
climbers  turned  into  sliders  and  vice  versa. 
And  it  was  not  merely  the  young  people  who 
did  it.  Every  one  in  the  parish  made  the  mis- 
sion and  all  were  fervent  and  jolly  over  it  at 
the  same  time,  with  the  buoyancy  of  genuine 
hill-climbers. 

"This  congregation  is  not  on  the  level," 
Father  Coffey  said. 

The  next  thing  one  could  not  fail  to  observe 
was  the  fact  that  a  large  part  of  the  people 
was  made  up  of  Slovaks,  Hungarians,  Aus- 
trians,  Italians,  Poles — in  the  country  com- 
paratively only  a  short  time;  while  the  others 
were  Americans,  principally  descendants  of 
Irish  parentage,  perhaps  of  the  third  genera- 
tion. But  while  there  was  a  difference,  there 
was  no  division.  It  was  like  a  family  gather- 
ing. Everyone  appreciated  everyone  else. 
Racial  distinctions  were  not  even  thought 
about.  Each  person  felt  completely  and  com- 


14  White  and  Black 

fortably  at  home.  An  atmosphere  of  good 
feeling,  of  cheerful  give  and  take,  was  abroad. 
And  it  did  not  require  subtle  observation  to 
note  that  the  whole  congregation  strongly  but 
quietly  gravitated  toward  Father  Coffey  and 
moved  with  him  and  about  him.  It  was  the 
first  insight  I  got  of  his  extraordinary  power 
over  a  wide  variety  of  characters. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  week  the  snow 
turned  into  rain,  even  a  more  disheartening 
obstacle  to  a  mission  than  snow.  But  the  peo- 
ple came  as  steadily  as  the  rain. 

"Noah  is  at  it  again,"  said  Father  Coffey. 
"He's  never  happy  unless  there's  water  on 
Mount  Ararat.  I  thought  he'd  send  me  at 
least  one  dove  out  of  two  missionaries.  But 
it's  two  ravens  he  sent  me." 

In  a  spiritual  sense,  at  any  rate,  it  is  the 
problem  of  the  dove  and  the  raven  that  fronts 
the  priest  at  every  turn,  and  nowhere  more 
insistently  than  in  a  mill  town  where  heavy  and 
incessant  toil  tends  to  bring  on  a  physical 
fatigue  that  blots  out  the  soul's  heaven  with  a 
screen  of  smoke;  a  dull  monotony  that  saps 
away  the  upleaping  of  the  spirit  in  the  shrivel- 
ing furnace  of  routine. 

To  preserve  the  earthly  lives  of  his  children 
white  as  the  new-fallen  snow,  to  keep  heaven 


White  and  Black  15 

open  to  their  gaze  and  the  great  black  fingers 
of  sin  from  clutching  their  souls  and  dragging 
them  down  into  darkness,  was  the  problem  that 
faced  Father  Coffey  and  that  Father  Coffey 
faced — a  problem  sharply  typified  that  night 
by  the  hills  that  lay  white  around  me  and  the 
black  mill-stacks  reaching  threateningly  into 
the  sky  above. 


CHAPTER  II 
AT  HOME 

AT  the  time  of  the  "Mount  Ararat"  inci- 
dent in  1913,  Father  Coffey  was  forty- 
one  years  of  age.  He  was  born  in  Brooklyn 
on  the  thirtieth  of  July,  1872.  He  grew  up  as 
a  little  fellow  in  that  city  and  received  his  early 
education  in  the  schools  there.  The  seeds  of 
a  character  that  ripened  so  beautifully  with 
the  years,  were  started  into  vigorous  growth 
during  those  early  days  at  home. 

Young  Dan  grew  up  in  the  parish  of  St. 
Francis  Xavier  in  Brooklyn  and  Monsignor 
Hickey,  the  pastor,  was  his  lifelong  friend. 
"I  knew  him  as  a  boy  of  good,  solid  Catholic 
parents,"  said  Monsignor  Hickey.  "Solid" 
is  by  no  means  a  synonym  for  stolid  when  ap- 
plied to  Catholicity.  There  was  very  little 
stolidity  about  the  Coffey  family.  Plenty  of 
room  for  Dan's  individuality  of  character  to 
grow,  for  his  native  wit  to  blossom,  and  his 
sunny  temper  to  light  up  everything  around 

16 


At  Home  17 

him.  It  was  not  one  of  those  mortuary  house- 
holds where  ten  thousand  and  ten  command- 
ments, mostly  "don'ts,"  like  a  swarm  of  hor- 
nets, are  daily  unloosed  around  the  bewildered 
head  of  childhood,  and  where  forcible  feeding 
followed  by  the  broomstick  drill  administered 
with  grim  Puritanic  ferocity,  are  the  staple 
family  devotions. 

On  the  contrary,  Dannie  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  be  trained  in  a  home  where  the  great 
principle  was  understood  that  each  soul  is  a 
special  creation  of  God,  with  its  own  alloted 
characteristics,  its  unique  temperament,  its  as- 
signed gifts,  its  definite  limitations.  "As  a 
tree  planted  by  the  running  waters,  that  will 
yield  its  fruit  in  its  own  season" — this  was  the 
underlying  idea  followed  out  in  the  upbring- 
ing of  young  Daniel  and  this  is  the  reason  why 
his  parents  are  aptly  described  as  "solidly 
Catholic." 

He  wasn't  allowed  to  grow  wild,  of  course. 
Dan  got  his  "trimmings"  like  any  other  boy. 
But  he  got  them  when  he  needed  them.  He 
wasn't  torn  up  by  the  roots ;  suffered  from  no 
freak  graftings,  was  stripped  of  none  of  the 
strong,  reaching  boughs  of  individuality.  ~No 
attempts  were  made  to  get  the  fruit  before  the 
blossom,  but  there  was  always  patient  wait- 


18  At  Home 

ing,  attentive  watching,  nevertheless,  that  the 
fruit  should  appear  "in  its  own  time." 

"He  was  the  same  as  a  boy  that  he  was  as  a 
priest,"  said  Monsignor  Hickey,  "a  genial, 
energetic  boy,  liked  by  his  teachers,  liked  by 
his  companions  and  withal  devout  and  regular 
at  the  Sacraments." 

Words  like  these  tell  in  a  nutshell  all  that 
we  should  like  to  hear  about  a  boy,  and  every 
word  points  directly  at  his  home  as  the  source 
of  that  combination  of  vivacity  and  seriousness 
of  character  which  were  woven  together  in  his 
life  with  so  perfect  a  balance  of  each  against 
the  other.  The  earliest  incidents  of  his  boy- 
hood forecast  this  wit  and  wisdom  of  his  with 
great  accuracy. 

He  had  a  statue  of  St.  John  for  his  room 
and  he  got  the  idea  into  his  little  head  that  this 
St.  John  ought  to  go  about  doing  good.  So  he 
took  the  statue  into  his  arms — he  wasn't  much 
bigger  than  the  statue — and  started  down  the 
street  with  it  to  the  church,  some  blocks  dis- 
tant. Wisely,  nobody  in  the  house  prevented 
him,  but  let  him  work  out  the  idea  for  himself. 
He  carried  St.  John  to  church,  had  it  blessed 
and  returned  home  with  it.  He  repeated  this 
performance  again  and  again  at  intervals  of 
a  few  days,  until  the  spectacle  of  a  very  small 


At  Home  19 

boy  with  a  very  large  statue  moving  down  the 
street  began  to  be  a  nine  days'  wonder,  espe- 
cially to  the  good,  if  curious,  ladies  who  took 
a  little  time  from  their  housework  to  keep  en 
rapport  with  happenings  in  the  street. 

"Who  is  that  child  that  keeps  carrying  the 
statue  up  and  down  past  the  house?"  asked 
Number  One. 

"I  can't  imagine  who  he  is,"  said  Number 
Two.  "I  watched  him  several  days  and  he  al- 
ways carries  it  into  the  church." 

"Here  he  is  now.  Let's  ask  him  what  he  is 
doing,"  said  Number  Three. 

Dannie  came  along,  solemn  as  a  butler,  per- 
fectly alive  to  the  fact  that  he  was  watched, 
knowing  that  he  was  to  be  questioned,  but  with 
that  straight  ahead  look  and  that  apparent 
oblivion  of  observation  which  all  who  knew  him 
in  later  life  remember  with  much  amusement. 

"Where  are  you  going  with  the  statue,  little 
boy?"  asked  Number  One,  as  Dan  came  along- 
side. 

Dan  became  conscious  of  their  presence. 

"I  am  going  to  the  church,  lady,"  said  he. 

"Isn't  that  statue  heavy?"  ventured  Number 
Two. 

"It  isn't  as  heavy  as  I  am,  ma'am,"  said 
Dannie,  serenely. 


20  At  Home 

"What  is  it  the  statue  of?"  she  asked,  rather 
flustered  by  Dannie's  unexpected  answer. 

"It  is  the  statue  of  St.  John,"  replied 
Dannie. 

"St.  John!"  said  Number  Three.  "Isn't 
that  cute!" 

"Cute!"  said  Dan,  putting  down  the  statue. 
"He  was  the  best  friend  of  our  Lord  and  he 
was  thrown  into  a  big  barrel  of  boiling  oil." 

"Mercy!"  exclaimed  all  Three. 

Dan  had  them  where  he  wanted  them  and 
he  proceeded  to  give  a  picture  of  St.  John  in 
the  barrel  of  boiling  oil  with  the  grotesque  en- 
largements of  which  only  a  small  boy  with  an 
imagination  is  capable,  until  he  had  the  three 
ladies  petrified  with  fright.  Then  he  put  his 
arms  around  St.  John  and  marched  off  with 
him  to  the  church. 

"Now  they'll  know  St.  John  was  somebody," 
said  Dan  when  he  told  his  mother  all  about  it. 

A  good  non-Catholic  lady  stopped  him  an- 
other day  with  the  statue  and  kindly  tried  to 
show  him  just  what  idol  worship  meant. 
Really  it  was  too  bad  that  a  little  fellow  should 
be  brought  up  to  adore  images  in  that  way. 
Dan  won  the  battle  with  his  usual  tactics.  He 
waited  until  he  could  get  the  point  of  his  wit 
through  an  unwatched  spot  in  the  enemy's 


At  Home  21 

armor  and  then,  putting  down  the  statue,  he 
gave  the  history  of  St.  John  again,  splashing 
the  boiling  oil  around  with  the  verisimilitude 
of  a  necromancer. 

"Her  eyes  opened  wide,"  he  told  his  mother. 

Master  Coffey  had  learned  early  in  life  the 
lesson  of  the  beatus  virf  the  "happy  man,"  of 
the  Scripture,  that  genuine  fun  and  genuine 
piety  are  almost  synonymous  terms.  He 
never  forgot  it. 

As  a  sidelight  of  the  above  incident  we  might 
gather  that  Master  Dan  had  a  way  with  him 
of  being  close  to  his  mother.  So  it  was. 
Mother  and  son  were  an  understanding  pair 
who  worked  together  perfectly,  mother  giving 
Dan  plenty  of  room  to  work  and  Dan  telling 
his  mother  just  how  everything  went  and  tak- 
ing the  necessary  directions  with  an  intelligent 
docility. 

"Daniel  dearly  loved  his  mother,"  writes  his 
sister  Josephine,  "and  as  well  as  circumstances 
would  allow,  she  was  his  companion  until  her 
death.  He  shared  with  her  everything  he  had. 
Even  as  a  little  fellow,  when  he  bought  candy 
he  saved  half  of  it  for  her.  Any  gift  that  could 
be  divided,  she  received  half  of  it.  And  the 
half  that  was  left  he  shared  so  freely  all  around 
that  often  he  didn't  have  anything  at  all  for 


22  At  Home 

himself.  He  made  no  fuss  about  giving.  He 
liked  to  see  people  have  things." 

This  liking  to  see  people  "have  things"  was 
with  him  until  the  end. 

One  thing  he  did  not  like  to  give  away  was 
flowers.  He  had  a  great  love  for  flowers, 
planting  them  himself  and  watching  them  as 
children.  "When  but  a  child,"  his  sister 
writes,  "anything  he  would  plant  would  grow 
so  splendidly.  He  seemed  to  understand  them 
and  to  know  just  what  they  needed.  He  used 
to  say  the  flowers  loved  the  dead." 

Off  his  little  dining  room  in  Mingo,  many 
years  later,  he  had  built  a  tiny  room,  walled 
with  glass  for  his  flowers.  He  glorified  it  with 
the  name  "Conservatory."  And  when  the 
huge  smoke  drifts  swept  up  the  hill  from  the 
mill  stacks  below,  one  could  see  against  the 
dun  background  pouring  around  the  windows, 
like  a  rainbow  in  a  storm,  the  gleam  of  Father 
Coffey's  flowers. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  from  what  we  have 
said  that  Dannie  was  a  "mama's  boy";  mean- 
ing, in  the  popular  estimation,  a  boy  who  on 
the  first  appearance  of  trouble  clings  passion- 
ately to  mother's  skirts  and  burying  a  flower- 
like  face  deep  therein,  bursts  into  convulsive 
tears.  No,  Dan  was  an  aggressive  youngster, 


At  Home  23 

and  aggressive  people  haven't  time  for  tears. 
They  are  too  busy  doing  things  and  among 
those  things  is  the  inevitable  boys'  fight.  Dan 
had  his  share  of  the  neighborhood  fights,  re- 
turning at  times  therefrom  with  a  face  that 
bore  the  marks  of  battle.  Doubtless  the  other 
fellow  carried  its  mate.  The  element  of  fun, 
though,  was  not  absent  from  his  fighting. 

Once  Dan  was  walking  along  the  street  and 
on  turning  a  corner  he  came  upon  a  drunken 
man,  followed  at  a  little  distance  by  a  bunch 
of  boys.  Whether  it  is  a  mysterious  cruelty 
that  lurks  in  boys  that  makes  them  torment  a 
drunken  man,  or  whether  it  is  their  innate  dis- 
gust at  a  giant  deliberately  reducing  himself 
to  a  helpless  hulk,  at  any  rate  they  regard  in- 
toxication as  fair  game  for  them.  This  gang 
of  boys  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  They 
were  still  at  some  little  distance  behind  the 
man,  but  gradually  were  drawing  closer  for  a 
war  dance  around  him  as  they  sensed  his  com- 
plete inability  to  defend  himself. 

Dan  took  in  the  situation  in  a  flash.  He 
never  thought  it  square  to  attack  anyone  who 
was  down.  He  knew  the  crowd,  but  he  went 
against  it.  He  got  in  between  them  and  the 
drunken  man. 

"You  fellows  let  him  alone,"  he  said. 


24  At  Home 

"Aw,  what's  it  to  you  ?"  they  retorted.  "We 
had  him  before  you  came  around." 

"Well,  you  ain't  going  to  have  him  any 
longer,"  said  Dan. 

"Is  that  so?  Who  says  we  ain't?  Listen  to 
the  copper  talking!"  was  the  derisive  repartee 
of  the  gang. 

Just  then  the  man,  realizing  in  a  blurred 
way  that  someone  was  trying  to  help  him,  tried 
to  straighten  up,  but  after  a  series  of  pyrotech- 
nic zigzags,  dropped  in  a  lump  to  the  sidewalk. 
Dan  stepped  over  to  him,  took  a  quick  look  at 
him,  turned  to  the  crowd  of  boys  and  said : 

"You  aren't  going  to  make  fun  of  your  own 
father,  Billy  Jackson,  are  you?"  Billy  was 
the  biggest  boy  in  the  crowd  and  about  Dan's 
size. 

"He  is  not  my  father,"  shouted  Billy  indig- 
nantly, coming  forward. 

"You  just  look  and  see,"  said  Dan. 

In  a  sudden  panic,  Billy  did  look  closely  at 
the  man. 

"You're  a  liar!"  he  screamed.  "It  is  not  my 
father." 

"I  didn't  say  he  was,"  said  Dan  jauntily. 

"I'll  hit  you  a  punch  in  the  eye,"  yelled 
Billy. 

Dan  didn't  wait.     He  hit  Billy  a  punch  in 


At  Home  25 

the  eye  and  another  punch  in  the  other  eye. 
Billy  was  staggered.  The  crowd  was  agape. 
The  unexpected  turn  of  events  was  too  much 
for  their  brains. 

"Come  on,  now,  and  help  him  up,"  said  Dan, 
just  as  though  nothing  had  happened.  Billy's 
head  was  evidently  cleared  by  the  punches  he 
got,  for  he  helped  Dan  set  the  man  on  his  feet 
and  take  him  to  his  home  near  by. 

One  very  cold,  snowy  night  in  midwinter 
Dan  came  into  the  house,  carefully  leading  an 
old  woman  who  had  lost  her  way  in  the  storm. 
Dan  had  been  trudging  home  as  fast  as  he 
could  out  of  the  freezing  weather,  when  he 
observed  a  bewildered  figure  standing  per- 
fectly still  and  gazing  about.  He  stopped, 
inquired  if  he  could  be  of  help  and  found  that 
he  could  be,  indeed.  The  old  lady  was  com- 
pletely out  of  her  way  and  was  suffering  much 
with  the  cold.  The  alert  Dan  took  immediate 
charge  of  her,  guided  her  to  his  own  home,  in- 
troduced her  to  them  all  and  then  said : 

"Mother,  may  we  have  a  cup  of  hot  tea?" 

Mother  was  delighted.  She  made  the  tea 
and  soon  the  old  lady  was  thoroughly  warmed 
and  comfortable.  Dan  then  brought  her 
to  her  home,  a  long  distance  away. 

We  are  told  that  such  things  were  not  at  all 


26  At  Home 

unusual  for  Dan  to  do.  "He  loved  the  old 
and  the  poor,"  said  his  sister  Josephine,  "and 
was  happy  when  helping  to  make  them 
happy."  Whenever  he  could  not  see  his  way 
to  assist  them,  he  depended  on  the  folks  at 
home  and  it  says  much  for  the  understanding 
hospitality  of  his  home  that  they  never  failed 
to  come  to  his  rescue.  Even  while  away  at 
college,  writing  to  his  mother  he  said:  "Mother, 
do  not  let  a  poor  person  pass  by  your  door. 
Give  him  my  share."  The  idea  never  left  him 
and  later  in  life  "my  share"  grew  to  be  every- 
thing he  had. 

Not  many  mothers  would  trust  the  dressing 
of  their  hair  to  their  young  sons.  Not  many 
boys,  I  think,  would  dare  to  attempt  the  mazy 
task.  Mrs.  Margaret  Duffy,  sister  of  Father 
Coffey,  and  still  living  in  Brooklyn,  tells  us 
that  she  remembers  well  how  when  mother  was 
unwell  or  very  tired  and  the  girls  were  busy, 
Master  Daniel  would  drop  his  ball  and  bat, 
take  up  comb  and  brush  and  dress  her  hair 
with  the  delicate  skill  and  sure  touch  of  an 
artist.  Looking  at  Daniel  from  this  particu- 
lar angle,  I  regard  him  with  admiring  awe. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  LADDERS  OF  SCHOOL 

ALL  this  time  Dan  was  climbing  rung  af- 
ter rung  of  the  school  ladders.  In  my 
search  of  his  record  through  this  period  I  have 
found  no  gold  medals,  no  ribbons  of  excellence, 
none  of  those  "high  marks"  which  proclaim  the 
youthful  phenomenon  of  the  lofty  brow.  Dan 
"got  through"  safely,  however,  and  his  teach- 
ers never  forgot  him. 

"Did  Dan  Coffey  graduate?"  asked  one  of 
his  teachers  who  had  left  the  school  and  was 
inquiring  after  her  old  class  that  had  moved 
up  from  her. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer,  "he  passed  in  every 
branch." 

"I  knew  he  would,"  said  his  former  teacher. 
"They  never  could  keep  that  boy  down." 

The  truth  seemed  to  be  that  when  Dan  got 
his  lessons,  he  mastered  them  with  brilliancy. 
After  winning  the  teacher's  heart  with  some 
wonderful  work,  he  would  hazard  a  mental 
holiday  and  would  appear  in  class  with  a  brain 

27 


28  The  Ladders  of  School 

utterly  empty  of  legitimate  answers  to  ques- 
tions on  the  class  matter,  but  full  up  of  original 
ideas  for  avoiding  discovery  and  fresh  methods 
of  throwing  the  pursuers  off  the  trail. 

"I  was  like  Eliza  crossing  the  ice  with  the 
bloodhounds  after  me,"  he  once  said,  remem- 
bering with  delight  those  contests. 

Dan  had  shrewd  teachers  who  were  not  to  be 
easily  fooled  by  the  world-old  strategy  of  boys 
in  school.  He  understood,  accordingly,  that 
he  had  to  evolve  something  new  every  time  to 
have  the  least  chance  of  escape.  He  did  it. 

"I  used  to  wait  for  Dan  Coffey  at  every  one 
of  the  corners  a  boy  could  turn  to  get  away 
from  his  teachers,"  said  one  who  remembered 
him  accurately,  "when  all  of  a  sudden  I  would 
find  him  right  behind  me  with  a  look  of  inno- 
cence on  his  face  and  a  touch  of  wonder  as 
though  he  didn't  know  what  I  was  worrying 
about.  Sympathy,  too,  was  in  his  eyes,  as 
though  he  would  wish  to  help  me  out  of  any 
trouble  I  was  in,  no  matter  what  it  might  be. 
No  other  boys  in  the  room  would  think  of  the 
escapes  he  planned,  and  if  they  did,  they 
wouldn't  dare  to  try  them." 

•Of  course  Dan  didn't  escape  all  the  time. 
His  average  of  successes,  however,  made  the 
game  worth  the  risks.  It  had  been  easier  for 


The  Ladders  of  School  29 

him  to  get  the  lessons  by  straight  study,  but 
the  spirit  of  adventure  led  him  into  these  con- 
tests of  wits  and  no  doubt  he  was  here  learning 
things  that  were  not  to  be  found  in  books. 
After  one  of  these  escapades  he  would  settle 
down  again  and  sparkle  with  intelligence  until 
his  teachers  would  be  on  the  point  of  regarding 
him  as  a  boy  wonder,  when  another  dash  across 
the  thin  ice  would  turn  incipient  admiration 
into  gasps  of  bewilderment. 

"Dan  was  never  loud,  nor  coarse,  nor  de- 
structive," continues  his  friend  and  teacher. 
"He  wasn't  what  boys  nowadays  call  'rough 
house.'  He  never  upset  the  class  and  he  was 
the  pink  of  politeness.  No  matter  how  tight 
a  corner  he  was  in,  his  answers  to  all  questions 
were  perfectly  mannerly.  He  did  everything 
gracefully,  including  mistakes.  And  his  ruses 
were  so  new  always,  so  unexpected  and  so 
— funny  is  the  only  word  I  can  think  of  to  de- 
scribe them — so  funny,  that  even  the  teacher 
had  to  see  that  they  left  a  trail  of  sunshine  after 
them  and  over  the  whole  class." 

They  threw  a  slight  shadow  across  Dan's 
averages,  nevertheless;  but  it  was  the  sunniest 
shadow  that  ever  flitted  across  a  record  book. 
I  may  cause  a  deep  frown  to  mold  itself  upon 
the  iron  brow  of  the  modern  statistical  educa- 


30  The  Ladders  of  School 

tor  and  I  may  bring  an  ominous  stone  finger  to 
train  upon  me  as  a  traitor  to  the  cause,  but  I 
am  free  to  say  that  I  am  glad  that  Dannie,  like 
Eliza,  crossed  the  ice. 

The  grades  finished,  Dan  hesitated  as  to  his 
next  step,  whether  to  continue  at  school  or  to 
go  into  the  world  of  business. 

New  York  was  then  beginning  her  swing 
into  full  financial  power  and  opportunities 
were  many,  even  for  youngsters,  to  move  with 
the  tide  to  fortune.  Dan  started  to  work  but 
kept  in  the  back  of  his  head  the  alternative  of 
school. 

About  this  time  he  came  into  close  contact 
with  Father,  now  Monsignor,  Hickey,  his  pas- 
tor, and  the  lifelong  friendship  then  formed 
proved  a  turning  point  in  Dan's  career. 
Father  Hickey  was  in  the  beginnings  of  the 
splendid  buildings  he  has  since  erected  for  his 
parish  and  was  weaving  his  way  through  the 
continuous  and  often  tantalizing  difficulties 
that  rose  between  him  and  the  f  ulfillment  of  his 
dream. 

Difficulties  were  always  a  challenge  to  Dan, 
especially  the  difficulties  of  a  friend.  Young 
as  he  was  he  offered  himself  to  aid  Father 
Hickey  in  whatever  way  was  possible  for  a 
lad. 


The  Ladders  of  School  31 

"No  one,"  said  Monsignor  Hickey,  "was 
deeper  in  the  work  than  Daniel  Coffey;  none 
was  more  jubilant  over  our  successes,  or  more 
tenacious  in  hanging  on  whenever  a  setback 
came.  He  made  the  parish  cause  his  own  as 
far  as  he  could,  and  he  had  a  way  with  him  that 
could  cut  through  trouble  when  older  heads 
had  failed.  And  whether  the  prospects  were 
dark  or  bright,  Dan  drew  fun  out  of  the  situa- 
tion. He  added  a  touch  of  sunshine  to  every- 
thing." 

One  of  the  activities  for  the  promotion  of 
funds  was  the  then  inevitable  bazaar.  Among 
the  things  entrusted  to  Dan  was  the  decora- 
tion of  the  hall  where  the  bazaar  was  to  be 
held.  Dan  had  a  sure  taste  for  decoration. 
As  one  of  his  friends  said  in  later  years:  "Give 
Father  Coffey  a  yard  of  ribbon  and  a  paper 
flower  and  he'll  make  a  chicken  coop  look  in- 
teresting." 

Dan  settled  down  to  the  work  of  decorating. 
He  enlisted  a  little  army  of  helpers  and  an- 
other of  contributors.  Bunting,  flags,  flowers, 
Japanese  lanterns,  pennants,  plants,  appeared 
in  plenty.  Odd,  curious  and  simply  unusable 
gifts  likewise  came  in  from  generous  but  un- 
enlightened souls.  Dan  received  the  bric-a- 
brac  with  the  serious  and  gracious  elegance  he 


32  The  Ladders  of  School 

knew  how  to  employ,  sincerely  thanking  the 
donors,  but  using  a  necessary  ingenuity  to  hide 
most  of  it  in  the  limbo  of  dark  corners. 

Just  when  the  work  was  about  finished  and 
Dan  was  standing  back  to  give  the  masterpiece 
one  of  his  pre-Raphaelite  looks  of  approving 
contemplation,  two  ladies  stepped  up  to  him, 
each  carrying  a  bird  cage  with  a  canary  in  it. 

"Mr.  Coffey,"  said  one  of  them,  "we  simply 
couldn't  resist  loaning  you  our  lovely  canaries. 
The  hall  is  so  beautiful  that  it  needs  only  this 
added  touch  to  make  it  seem  like  home.  We 
know  you  will  like  them  and  you  will  take  the 
best  care  of  them  won't  you  ?  " 

Dan  groaned  in  spirit.  Canary  birds  a 
decoration  at  a  bazaar!  Where  the  boys 
would  poke  sticks  in  at  them  to  see  them  bite 
and  the  girls  feed  them  with  indigestible  bazaar 
foods !  But  the  two  were  such  dear  old  ladies ! 
Gallantry  won  the  day. 

"Canaries!"  exclaimed  he.  "What  an  orig- 
inal idea!  We'll  just  embower  them  in  a 
secluded  spot  and  have  the  people  enjoy  some 
invisible  singing." 

Dan  hung  the  cages  aloft  near  the  roof  in  a 
nest  of  tissue  paper  and  flags  and  hoped  the 
boys  wouldn't  see  them.  The  opening  night 
passed  famously.  Not  the  least  trouble  with 


The  Ladders  of  School  33 

the  birds.  They  were  so  quiet  that  the  boys 
never  suspected  them.  But  somebody  else  did. 
Next  morning  Dan  came  rushing  into  Father 
Hickey's  study. 

"My  God,  Father,  we're  ruined!"  he  said. 

"WTiat  is  the  matter?"  asked  Father  Hickey, 
alarmed. 

"Matter!"  said  Dan.  "Here's  all  that's  left 
of  those  canary  birds."  And  he  held  out  a 
weak  scramble  of  yellow  feathers. 

"That  tomcat  climbed  up  on  the  rafters  and 
had  a  midnight  lunch  off  them,"  he  said. 
"How  will  I  ever  tell  those  ladies?" 

What  to  do?  The  strategy  board  met  and 
after  the  meeting  Dan  went  down  town  and 
purchased  two  other  canaries  as  like  the  lately 
deceased  as  possible.  He  brought  them  in  the 
cages  to  the  home  of  the  two  ladies. 

"Ladies,"  he  said,  "we  are  most  grateful  to 
you  for  allowing  us  to  have  your  beautiful 
birds  for  the  opening  evening.  In  spite  of 
their  great  attractiveness  we  fear  that  the  noise 
and  excitement  may  get  on  their  nerves  and 
injure  them.  That  would  be  too  bad  for  such 
lovely  creatures  and  we  should  never  forgive 
ourselves  if  anything  happened  to  them." 

The  ladies  understood  very  graciously  and 
Dan  withdrew. 


34  The  Ladders  of  School 

The  following  day  Dan  dashed  into  Father 
Hickey's  study  again,  this  time  jubilantly. 

"What  do  you  think,  Father  Hickey?  A 
miracle  has  been  performed  in  the  parish!" 
Father  Hickey  was  mystified. 

"Why,"  continued  Dan,  "the  Misses  Young 
were  in  at  the  hall  just  now  in  an  ecstasy.  I 
thought  they  were  coming  to  sue  for  damages, 
but  they  came  to  tell  me  the  wonderful  result 
of  the  one  night  stand  their  birds  had  at  the 
bazaar.  'Those  birds,'  they  said,  'began  to 
sing  for  us  the  moment  you  left  them  at  the 
house  and  they  have  been  singing  ever  since.' 

"  'Wasn't  that  nice  of  them!'  "  I  said. 

"'Nice,  Mr.  Coffey!'  they  said;  'that  isn't 
the  word  at  all  for  it.  It's  miraculous,  that's 
what  it  is.  Those  canaries  never  sang  a  note 
in  their  lives  before!' ' 

The  close  and  sympathetic  companionship 
of  young  Dan  with  Father  Hickey  had  its  ef- 
fect. Dan  saw  with  growing  clearness  the 
work  of  the  priesthood  with  its  wide  opportuni- 
ties for  helping  others  and  this  attraction  ap- 
pealed to  him  with  steadily  growing  force. 
"Dan  was  as  deeply  interested  in  the  parish 
as  I  was,"  writes  Monsignor  Hickey,  "and  I 
was  not  surprised  to  see  him  finally  choose  the 


The  Ladders  of  School  35 

calling  of  the  priesthood  as  his  vocation  in 
life." 

Dan  took  up  the  study  of  Latin  and  his  pas- 
tor was  his  first  teacher.  He  made  good  pro- 
gress in  that  and  kindred  studies  and  in  the  fall 
of  1890  he  entered  St.  Charles'  College,  Elli- 
cott  City,  Maryland. 


CHAPTER  IV 
COLLEGE  DAYS 

fTHHE  college  boy,  as  he  appears  in  the  pages 
JL  of  the  accepted  biography  or  novel,  is 
generally  a  messy  creature.  He  is  either  raw 
unto  bleeding  or  he  is  overdone  to  a  cinder. 
A  composite  of  the  school  characters  one  re- 
members from  the  books  would  make  an  olla 
podrida  fit  only  for  a  witch's  cauldron:  A 
lovelorn,  irresponsible  gander  of  an  Arthur 
Pendennis;  a  romantic  desperado  of  a  Steer- 
forth;  the  icy  flawlessness  of  a  "double  first" 
Gladstone;  the  bulging-browed  memory  feats 
of  a  Macaulay;  heaps  of  vulgar  rubbish  from  a 
Stalky  &  Co.;  swashes  of  egotistical  cynicism 
from  a  Henry  Adams ;  atop  of  this,  bunches  of 
hard  muscle  from  incipient  pugilists,  ballplay- 
ers, oarsmen,  foot  racers,  high  jumpers,  and 
all  of  it  heavily  spiced  with  loud  yawps  of 
vacant  merriment,  indicating  "heads  to  let," 
and  with  yodles,  rah-rahs,  town  and  gown  riots, 
Jew  pawnbrokers,  bills  payable,  parti-colored 
garments, 

36 


College  Days  37 

Yo!  ho!  ho!  and  a  bottle  of  rum! 

A  gruel  thick  and  slap!  Sniffing  it  cau- 
tiously and  from  a  distance,  one  concludes  that 
any  college  undertaking  to  make  that  concoc- 
tion taste  like  champagne  should  select  for  its 
motto: 

Double,  double  toil  and  trouble! 

Especially  if  the  faculty  of  said  college  is  to 
be  along  the  lines  these  same  books  tell  us  is 
typical — a  more  or  less  rambling  and  random 
collection  of  absentminded,  dry-as-dust  Dom- 
inie Sampsons,  at  the  mercy  of  every  sprout- 
ing youth  whose  callow  imagination  runs  ex- 
clusively to  tricks ;  who  succeed  with  them,  too, 
every  time,  because  the  collective  faculty  has 
about  as  much  knowledge  of  human  nature  as 
of  the  hinter  side  of  the  moon. 

College  days  in  the  books  are  always  a 
Roman  triumph  for  the  boys  and  a  "Vse  victis" 
for  the  faculty. 

It  may  be  so  in  the  colleges  these  books  pro- 
fess to  describe.  My  own  rather  prolonged 
experience,  however,  both  as  a  student  and  as 
a  faculty  member  of  Catholic  colleges,  tells  me 
distinctly  that  here  it  is  not  so.  It  is  the  stu- 
dents and  not  the  faculty  who  are  trained  in 


38  College  Days 

Catholic  colleges.  Whatever  happens  else- 
where, a  boy  in  a  Catholic  college  is  sure  not  to 
get  "absent  treatment." 

A  Catholic  college  is  a  "strict"  college,  which 
means  that  in  the  intellectual  field  the  college 
expects  to  get  its  lessons  done;  on  the  moral 
side,  it  insists  on  a  life  aligned  with  the  Ten 
Commandments ;  in  the  matter  of  discipline,  it 
calls  for  such  united  movement  on  the  part  of 
the  students  that  no  friction  shall  develop  to 
interfere  with  either  morals  or  studies. 

The  main  aim  of  a  Catholic  college  is  the 
morals  of  the  student.  Next  comes  his  mental 
training  and  last  in  importance,  and  entirely 
as  a  means  to  the  two  great  ends,  comes  disci- 
pline. Every  liberty  is  allowed  the  student 
which  in  the  judgment  of  the  school  will  not 
intrude  upon  his  higher  purpose  there.  But 
discipline  is  there  to  check  at  once  any  such 
intrusion,  because  the  college  knows  well  that 
discipline  is  the  great  outer  wall  of  defense  for 
the  city  of  the  soul.  As  soon  as  students  break 
down  that  wall — and  it  is  the  first  thing  they 
attempt  when  they  desire  to  dominate — that 
college  had  better  close  its  gates.  It  rapidly 
becomes  a  foul  nest  for  the  breeding  of  mental 
imbecility  and  moral  disease.  The  Catholic 
college  will  not  permit  it  for  a  minute. 


College  Days  39 

These  paragraphs  will  sound  platitudinous 
to  those  familiar  with  the  workings  of  the 
Catholic  school.  They  are  put  down  here  to 
indicate  briefly  to  those  who  do  not  happen  to 
know,  what  the  typical  atmosphere  is  in  a 
school  of  Catholic  training. 

Such  a  school  Daniel  Coffey  chose  for  his 
classical  studies  when  he  decided  to  go  to  St. 
Charles'  College.  It  is  a  compliment  to  his 
judgment  that  he  elected  a  school  that  was  bent 
on  training,  rather  than  entertaining,  its 
pupils.  And  it  is  a  compliment  to  the  school 
that  it  appreciated  Dan's  quality,  gave  him  its 
full  training  and  its  degree,  and  as  later  years 
abundantly  proved,  produced  a  work  worthy 
of  its  best  efforts. 

Dan  Coffey  brought  to  St.  Charles'  no  mean 
equipment  at  that.  A  quick,  original  yet 
docile  mind,  a  brilliant  wit,  a  steady  moral 
character.  What  he  needed  was  to  have  these 
deepened,  broadened,  fused  into  a  single  en- 
ergy, focused  upon  a  single  ideal. 

"Upon  my  return  to  St.  Charles'  College," 
writes  Father  William  Ryan,  of  the  Archdio- 
cese of  Chicago,  one  of  Dan's  boyhood  and 
lifelong  friends,  "in  1890,  I  think  it  was,  I  met 
Dan  for  the  first  time.  As  I  look  back 
through  the  years,  I  still  can  see  plainly  the 


40  College  Days 

Dan  of  college  days — an  open-hearted,  sincere, 
genial  soul.  His  candid,  unreserved,  out- 
spoken ways  were  so  distinctive  that  at  times 
he  was  misunderstood  on  account  of  them. 
He  was  impulsive,  some  would  say  tempera- 
mental, but  always  conscientious.  What  was 
apparently  flippant  independence  was  nothing 
more  than  the  expression  of  a  nature  frank 
and  free.  One  always  knew  just  where  he 
stood.  Subterfuge  was  not  in  the  make-up 
of  his  character  at  any  period  of  his  life." 

Another  boyhood  friend,  the  Reverend 
James  F.  Higgins,  of  the  Archdiocese  of  New 
York,  who  was,  as  he  says,  the  "intimate  and 
companion"  of  the  Dan  Coffey  of  thirty  years 
ago,  writes  thus  of  his  friend : 

"Our  paths  diverged  on  the  eve  of  going 
out  into  the  world,  and  except  for  a  rare  brief 
space,  our  orbits  never  crossed  again.  Thus 
in  his  years  of  public  life  I  did  not  know  him 
by  personal  contact,  but  I  did  know  him,  I 
feel,  by  the  strong  intimation  his  young  man- 
hood gave  of  what  his  life  was  likely  to  be,  for 
his  character  had  almost  hardened  in  its  mold. 

"The  qualities  that,  I  hear  from  all  sides, 
glorified  his  work  as  a  priest,  are  precisely  the 
qualities  that  made  him  conspicuous  in  his 
young  manhood. 


College  Days  41 

"There  never  was  a  cleaner-hearted  boy  than 
Dan  Coffey.  I  never  observed  then  nor  since 
a  deeper,  more  matured  sympathy  for  his  fel- 
lowman  in  all  vicissitudes.  I  never  knew  any- 
one to  cloak  so  genuine  a  seriousness  about  all 
essentials  with  so  constant  a  joy  of  heart  and 
such  sparkling  play  of  whimsical  wit.  It  is 
true  he  saw  the  laugh  in  everything  if  the  laugh 
were  really  there.  It  was  not  levity;  he  saw 
deep  into  the  heart  of  man.  Dan  never 
laughed  at  anyone;  he  laughed  with  him,  as 
seeing  in  all  human  foibles  a  common  heritage. 
No  child  was  ever  more  direct,  more  without 
duplicity,  so  transparent. 

"He  entered  any  gathering  and  was  at  home 
at  once.  In  five  minutes  the  gathering  was  at 
home  with  him  and  took  him  to  its  heart.  His 
personality  was  his  entree  to  any  assemblage 
of  men  or  women.  What  a  host  he  must  have 
been  in  later  years!  A  stranger,  by  this  title, 
had  first  claim  in  his  eyes  to  all  the  courtesies 
of  his  graceful  hospitality. 

"To  be  more  intimate,  what  a  love  he  had  for 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  and  for  the  Holy 
Mother  of  God!  Not  obtruded,  sacredly  hid 
away ;  but  to  the  close  view  of  a  friend,  clearly 
visible  deep  in  his  heart,  real,  personal.  Such 


42  College  Days 

is  the  memory  I  hold  of  Dan  as  he  was  in  his 
early  years. 

"If  Father  Coffey  of  later  years  fulfilled 
the  promise  that  winsome  Dan  Coffey  gave  in 
his  youth,  then  he  must  have  grown  to  the  full 
stature  of  the  ideal  friend  of  men  and  the  ideal 
priest  of  God." 

These  clever  outline  sketches  of  young  Cof- 
fey's  character  bring  him  up  before  the  mind's 
eye  as  completely  in  a  few  words  as  a  bookful 
of  description  could  do.  The  character,  we 
can  see  at  once,  is  still  in  solution,  but  gives 
distinct  promise  of  the  fine  crystallization 
that  it  took  on  with  the  years. 

The  one  strongly  outstanding  quality,  em- 
phasized in  every  phrase,  is  at  once  the  loveli- 
est and  most  reassuring  quality  of  youth — 
openness  of  soul.  "One  always  knew  just 
where  he  stood.  Subterfuge  was  not  in  him." 
Candor,  sincerity,  geniality,  frankness,  are 
other  words  lighting  up  the  same  ideal  and  are 
all  based  upon  a  genuine  personal  love  of  God 
and  His  Mother.  Over  and  through  them  all 
played  the  flash  of  a  brilliant  wit. 

Even  the  limitations  indicated  are  what  we 
should  normally  anticipate.  Impulsive  out- 
spokenness, independence,  a  touch  of  flippancy 
are  less  limitations  than  the  yet  unchecked 


College  Days  43 

overflow  of  good  qualities,  and  are  full  of 
promise,  because  back  of  them  we  observe  the 
check  already  in  operation — Dan  was  consci- 
entious. This  means  that  he  would  not  repeat 
mistakes  along  the  same  line  very  often.  Al- 
together, a  character  presaging  swift  energy, 
always  above  board,  with  an  eager  instinct  for 
justice,  a  capacity  for  winning  confidence  and 
an  irrepressible  and  sunny  wit. 

In  the  retort  of  college,  Dan  was  to  go 
through  the  blending,  solidifying,  reducing 
process  that  would  harmonize  all  these  quali- 
ties and  bring  them  to  move  as  one  force. 
Naturally,  the  first  thing  that  came  in  for  a 
trimming  was  Dan's  wit. 

One  of  the  pet  resentments  of  the  modern 
elective  system  of  education  is  its  resentment 
against  any  kind  of  "trimming"  for  the  stu- 
dent. "And  above  all  things,  to  attack  wit!" 
they  will  exclaim,  lifting  solemnly  a  theoretic 
hand  in  a  pedagogic  horror.  "Why  trim  wit? 
Why  freeze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul? 
Why  hamper  originality?  Why  flatten  the 
sacred  effervescence  of  youth?" 

Any  common  sense  business  man  would 
puncture  this  "sob  stuff"  in  a  single  sentence, 
"Wit  should  be  trimmed  for  the  reason  we  trim 
anything,  rosebushes,  beards,  apple  pies,  boats. 


44  College  Days 

Trimming  makes  them  look  better,  grow  bet- 
ter, go  better." 

Fortunately  for  Dan  Coff ey  he  was  in  a  col- 
lege that  made  it  a  business  to  study  boys,  and 
to  know  them  individually.  Let  us  observe 
here  that  in  a  college  of  this  kind,  the  college 
learns  from  the  boy  just  as  the  boy  learns  from 
the  college.  It  is  impossible  for  any  college 
faculty  to  come  into  close  and  sympathetic  con- 
tact with  hundreds  of  boys  year  after  year  and 
not  to  derive  from  such  contact  a  cumulative 
knowledge  of  all  the  winding  ways  of  youth,  an 
unfailing  instinct  in  judging  whether  a  boy  is 
going  up  hill  or  down,  and  a  practical  power  of 
influencing  each  boy  so  as  to  wean  him  away 
from  evil  and  urge  him  to  good.  A  tradi- 
tional manner  of  handling  boys  grows  into  a 
college  faculty,  a  college  spirit  that  perpetu- 
ates itself  and  improves  with  time;  and  it  has 
really  been  derived  from  the  boys  themselves. 
The  faculty  may  undergo  changes  but  the 
rooted  traditions  remain.  Individual  mem- 
bers of  the  teaching  body  may  not  grasp  the 
college  spirit,  but  it  will  grow  around  them 
and  through  them,  remaining  always  fresh, 
active,  adaptable  to  changing  conditions.  Be- 
cause the  constant  inflow  of  new  characters 
among  the  students  keeps  the  faculty  just 


College  Days  45 

enough  on  the  defensive  to  let  it  see  when  and 
where  to  attack. 

Out  of  this  perennial  contest,  for  it  is  nothing 
less,  between  the  faculty  and  the  boy,  there 
arises  a  college  spirit  in  the  former  the  keynote 
of  which  is  a  sense  of  justice  toward  the  boy. 
As  a  member  of  several  college  faculties  of  this 
type,  I  have  always  observed  this  steady 
trend  of  fair  dealing  toward  the  student. 
Isolated  cases  may  have  arisen  where  fair- 
ness was  not  evident  at  the  beginning,  but 
as  the  wheels  went  around,  this  was  invariably 
eliminated  and  justice  arrived  for  the  boy 
at  the  end,  without  petting  the  boy  either, 
or  making  him  feel  that  he  was  a  world  con- 
queror. 

Among  the  things  such  a  college  appreciates 
in  its  boys  are  wit  and  humor,  the  lubricators 
of  what  were  otherwise  dry  intellectual  fric- 
tion grinding  the  soul  to  powder.  The  genu- 
ine college  knows  that  wit  and  humor  are  the 
wings  of  wisdom.  Without  them  no  man  is 
truly  wise.  He  may  be  lean,  learned  and 
lugubrious,  but  without  the  luminosity  of  wit 
his  soul  yawns  before  us  like  an  open  grave. 
It  is  the  pseudo-educator  who  would  remove 
the  merry  Maypole  dance  from  the  intellectual 
training  ground  and  would  blight  the  blossom- 


46  College  Days 

ing  of  youth  by  substituting  penumbral  pac- 
ings around  a  catafalque. 

All  this  is  far  from  saying,  however,  that  wit 
should  not  be  trimmed.  Unchecked,  wit  has 
the  tendency  to  be  like  lightning,  brilliant  but 
terrifying.  It  should  be  more  like  the  aurora 
borealis,  flashing  up  with  new  and  unforseen 
beauty  but  leaving  a  glow  of  pleasure  at  its 
remembrance. 

In  later  years  Father  Coffey  spoke  with 
gratitude  of  his  training  at  St.  Charles'  Col- 
lege. He  realized  that  it  was  there  he  got  the 
first  hints  how  to  direct  his  wit  until  it  became 
what  we  all  knew  it  to  be  in  after  life,  "sure 
fire"  under  every  variety  of  circumstances,  but 
always  a  joy  forever. 

Dan  did  not  need  more  than  a  hint  to  adjust 
himself  to  the  conditions  of  college  life.  He 
never  needed  clubbing  to  get  an  idea.  His 
mind  was  so  quick,  he  saw  with  so  swift  an 
intuition  to  the  end  of  any  path  that  a  word 
was  sufficient  to  set  him  in  the  right  direction. 
Once  started  he  never  stopped. 

I  have  heard  him  say  that  one  wit  unchecked 
was  enough  to  ruin  a  college.  The  reason  is 
obvious.  It  is  one  boy  in  a  thousand  who  is 
genuinely  witty.  In  that  same  thousand 
there  are  at  least  a  hundred  who  think  them- 


College  Days  47 

selves  witty.  These  will  be  merely  the  crude 
imitators  of  the  leader  and  nothing  can  be  more 
shocking  to  the  intelligent  than  the  clumsy  and 
disorderly  fumblings  of  a  "near  wit."  Like  a 
stick  of  dynamite  with  a  half  inch  fuse,  he 
produces  nothing  but  noise  and  disastrous 
wreckage.  He  must  be  stopped.  Indeed,  a 
good  definition  of  a  college  faculty  would  be 
"a  society  for  the  prevention  of  imaginary 
wit."  No  boy  has  anything  like  a  liberal  edu- 
cation if  he  leaves  college  belonging  to  the 
class  of  "near  wits." 

For  the  good  of  the  human  race,  therefore, 
Daniel  was  forced  frequently  to  submerge. 
Like  a  good  boat,  he  obeyed  the  signals  and 
went  under,  but  like  a  good  boat  he  came  up 
again  after  a  sufficient  interval  and  periscoped 
cheerfully  about  once  more. 

I  have  before  me  an  album  filled  with  choice 
mottoes  and  signed  with  the  names  of  school- 
boy friends,  many  of  whom  have  since  become 
distinguished  in  the  Church  and  in  profes- 
sional life. 

It  was  one  of  Dan's  treasures,  kept  in  his 
desk  at  Mingo  where  doubtless  he  often  turned 
over  its  pages  and  lived  again  his  boy  life 
among  his  early  friends.  The  introductory 
page  holds  Dan's  personal  request: 


48  College  Days 

To  my  friends: 

Kindly  inscribe  a  few  lines,  that  in  future 
years  I  may  have  that  priceless  pleasure  of 
conversing  with  those  who  by  their  congenial 
society  lightened  the  burdens  of  my  life,  whom 
I  hope  some  day  to  meet  face  to  face  in  that 
Place  where  there  shall  be  no  separation,  but 
eternal  bliss  and  the  sweet  presence  of  the  God 
of  friendship.  Christmas,  1890. 

The  album  is  mostly  filled  with  the  custom- 
ary good  wishes  and  the  conventional  advice 
which  youth  deals  out  so  solemnly  in  copybook 
fashion,  with  the  "So-live-that-when-thy-sum- 
mons-come-to-join"  tone  running  through  it. 
But  back  of  this  the  human  note  gives  a  cricket 
chirp.  Off  in  little  corners  of  the  pages  are 
mystic  dates,  cryptic  quotations,  pass-words  to 
hidden  storehouses  of  fun,  known  only  to  the 
initiated;  so  that  on  many  pages  after  telling 
Dan  to  be  good  and  he  would  be  happy,  and 
adjuring  him  never,  never  to  be  naughty,  the 
same  hands,  apparently,  balanced  the  kite  with 
tails  like  these:  "Stop  that  making  chocolate 
in  French  class";  "Oh,  that  noisy  table  for  the 

sick  boys";  "Remember and  the  gas  jet"; 

"Wait  for  the  wagon";  "What  it  mean?"; 


College  Days  49 

"Coffey,  President  of  the  Order  of  the  Royal 
Pull";  "Ah,  close  your  eyes  just  once";  "Did 
you  get  the  ball,  Dan?" 

Each  of  these  panels  conceals  a  story. 
"What  it  mean?"  for  example,  recalls  a  very 
delightful  French  professor,  just  from 
France,  at  the  college  and  not  yet  able  to  speak 
English.  In  order  to  master  the  language 
with  all  possible  speed,  he  spent  most  of  the 
time  with  the  boys  in  their  recreations,  gravi- 
tating toward  those  who  he  heard  were  expert 
in  the  English  language.  In  this  way  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Daniel  Coffey  and  several 
friends.  They  not  only  taught  him  very  well, 
but  they  likewise  ushered  him  into  the  inner 
shrine  of  English,  the  mysteries  of  slang. 
Only  the  Father  did  not  know  at  the  time  that 
it  was  an  inner  shrine.  He  found  that  out 
later. 

Returning  to  the  Fathers'  recreation  one 
day,  he  proceeded  to  reveal  his  progress. 
$  eating  himself  near  one  of  the  Fathers  who 
had  been  suffering  from  headaches,  he  said 
sympathetically : 

"Father,  how  is  your  swelled  head?" 

The  Father  addressed  looked  at  him  in  as- 
tonishment. The  quick  French  professor 
noted  the  look  and  asked: 


50  College  Days 

"What  it  mean,  'swelled  head'?  Je  veux 
dire,  Comment  va  vdtre  mal  a  la  tete?" 

He  was  gently  told  that  the  word  for  that 
was  not  "swelled  head"  but  "headache." 

This  was  his  day  for  specializing  in  health 
phrases.  So,  shortly  after,  he  ventured  to 
ask  a  Father,  "And  how  is  your  breadbasket?" 

"Ah,"  again  noting  the  startled  look  of  the 
Father,  "is  it  not  correct,  'breadbasket'? 
What  it  mean — vdtre  estomac?"  exclaimed  the 
professor. 

After  he  had  told  various  members  of  the 
faculty  to  "take  their  base,"  to  "keep  their  shirt 
on"  and  had  confidentially  informed  the  Rector 
that  "he  made  him  tired,"  a  quiet  little  investi- 
gation was  started  and  the  trail  led  to  our 
friend  Daniel.  The  class  in  modern  English 
for  French  professors  was  discontinued. 

Among  contraband  gifts  to  the  students 
were  meats  of  any  kind.  One  Thanksgiving 
an  enthusiastic  relative  sent  Dan  a  fine  turkey 
and  told  him  it  was  on  the  way.  Dan,  hover- 
ing about  the  boxes  that  arrived,  lit  upon  his 
own  open  box,  and  there  lying  in  state  in  the 
center  of  a  wealth  of  other  choice  edibles,  was 
the  most  appetizing,  oyster-stuffed  turkey  im- 
aginable. He  begged  for  the  turkey  as  the 
one  thing  needed  for  a  very  weak  stomach. 


College  Days  51 

"Too  bad,  Dan,"  said  the  Prefect,  "but  the 
law  is  absolute." 

"Ah,  come,  Father,"  Dan  then  laughingly 
said,  "just  close  your  eyes  this  once.  I'm  go- 
ing to  take  my  turkey." 

"All  right,"  said  the  Prefect,  but  with  a  sin- 
ister note,  "but  don't  let  me  catch  you." 

"I  don't  intend  to,"  said  Dan;  and  as  the 
Prefect  turned  momentarily  aside,  Dan 
whipped  the  turkey  under  his  overcoat  and 
hurried  away. 

The  "Poor  Eight"  enjoyed  a  nice  turkey 
dinner  that  night.  Later  Dan  sent  his  coat  to 
the  cleaner.  The  Prefect  discovered  the  joke 
and  enjoyed  it. 

Although  Dan  was  a  recognized  leader  in 
the  innocent  fun  of  the  school,  he  was  never 
catalogued,  either  by  the  faculty  or  by  the 
boys,  as  a  "professional  joker."  Back  of  all 
the  laughter  and  the  light  so  constantly  in  the 
foregrouiyl,  they  saw  the  high,  aspiring  seri- 
ousness of  his  soul  rising  heavenward  like  a 
mountain. 

The  judgment  of  a  group  of  boys  upon  the 
character  of  anyone  with  whom  they  associate 
familiarly,  has  about  it  an  uncanny  finality  of 
truth.  A  single  boy  may  easily  be  deceived. 
But  a  group  of  boys  will  flow  over  and  seep 


52  College  Days 

under  a  character  like  water  around  a  rock. 
With  an  unconscious  daring  and  a  free-and- 
easy  unceremoniousness,  they  will  touch  every 
angle,  probe  every  shadowy  nook  and  at  the 
same  moment,  with  the  photographic  accuracy 
of  an  X-ray,  they  will  pluck  out  the  very  heart 
of  the  mystery.  Each  boy  comes  away  with 
some  particular  note  of  the  character  he  has 
explored.  Then  without  premeditation,  they 
all  meet,  pool  their  separate  judgments,  fuse 
them  by  the  wizardry  of  some  kind  of  spiritual 
chemistry,  focus  the  result  in  a  word  and  shout 
it  out  to  the  world  for  better  or  for  worse. 
And  that  settles  it.  They  have  "sized  up" 
their  man  and  tagged  him.  Fifty  years  after, 
they  will  name  him  by  that  tag  and  the  chances 
are  a  hundred  to  one  that  the  name  will  fit  him 
still. 

Like  all  the  rest,  Dan  Coff ey  went  through 
the  ordeal  of  search  and  seizure  and  he  came 
out  of  it  with  the  nickname  "Dean."  Among 
his  classmates,  Dan  answered  to  that  name  all 
his  life.  What  they  really  meant  by  the  name 
is  clear  from  the  class  prophecy,  composed  and 
read  by  one  of  Dan's  fellow  graduates.  After 
distributing  his  mates  along  various  walks  of 
life,  business,  politics  high  and  low,  and  the 


College  Days  53 

professions,  the  prophet  forecasts  Dan's  career 
in  the  following  lines: 

Afar  and  alone  on  the  desert's  hot  sand, 

With  thoughts  on  his  God  and  his  beads  in  his  hand, 

A  man  lonely  roams  in  excess  of  devotion, 

His  countenance  eager,  yet  graceful  his  motion. 

Announcing  the  Gospel,  he's  piously  been 

O'er  ocean,  up  rivers,  through  forest  and  fen. 

To  heathens  he's  preached,  an  Apostle  unshod, 

Till  the  temples  of  Satan  are  ruined,  downtrod. 

"Veni  Creator!" — we  list  as  he  sings — 

Through  sylvan  cathedrals  the  echoing  rings. 

He  wanders  unawed  through  dark  African  mazes 

And  chants  to  his  Maker  the  anthem  of  praises. 

You're  curious,  now,  that  I  tell  you  his  name, 

'Tis  Daniel  from  Brooklyn,  of  cothurnate  fame, 

This  holy  apostle  of  Africa's  shore 

Is  Cojfey,  Dean  Coffey — why  need  I  say  more? 


CHAPTER  V 
SOME  LETTERS 

WE  have  said  that  it  was  the  fall  of  1890 
that  Dan  entered  St.  Charles'  College. 
To  be  accurate  he  went  there  just  before  the 
close  of  school  in  June.  He  had  been  out  of 
school  a  year,  undecided  as  to  his  vocation. 
As  soon  as  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  on 
with  his  studies  for  the  priesthood,  he  deter- 
mined to  begin  at  once.  He  arranged  with 
the  college  authorities  to  study  at  St.  Charles' 
during  the  summer  so  as  to  brush  up  in  his 
work  and  be  ready  for  a  flying  start  in  the 
fall.  He  writes  some  of  his  early  impressions 
to  his  mother. 

ST.  CHARLES',  June  27,  1890. 
My  Dear  Mother: 

Your  letter  was  handed  me  yesterday  after 
I  arrived  home  from  Baltimore  where  I  had 
been  seeing  several  of  my  student  friends  off. 
I  felt  very  happy  at  hearing  of  your  improve- 

54 


Some  Letters  55 

ment.  Also  that  you  contemplate  going  to  the 
country. 

When  I  came  up  to  the  college  yesterday  I 
found  four  letters  waiting  me,  all  from  old 
friends.  It  was  like  a  visit  home. 

They  were  particularly  welcome  as  the  stu- 
dents have  all  gone  home  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  seminarians  and  about  sixteen  of  our- 
selves, who  are  doing  special  work  here  during 
the  vacation;  so  naturally  it  is  somewhat 
gloomy.  But  as  I  intend  to  study  hard  I  shall 
not  find  time  to  get  blue. 

If  you  were  here  you  would  enjoy  seeing  the 
many  reminiscences  of  the  war — historic  old 
bridges,  mills,  houses  all  along  the  roads  where 
the  soldiers  of  both  armies  traveled.  It  brings 
close  up  to  me  the  history  I  studied. 

The  country  about  is  charming.  A  blue 
haze  arises  from  the  surrounding  hills  and  these 
send  a  cool  air  over  the  place  which  makes  it 
very  healthful.  The  nights  are  cool  and  so  far 
I  have  not  slept  without  a  blanket.  Yester- 
day and  the  day  before,  you  would  melt  in 
Baltimore.  It  is  the  hottest  city  one  would 
wish  to  find.  I  was  glad  to  get  back  from  it. 

Had  you  been  at  the  depot  to  see  those  two 
hundred  and  more  students  bidding  each  other 
good-by,  you  would  have  been  amazed.  Such 


56  Some  Letters 

good  friends  they  are  of  one  another!  I,  who 
have  been  at  the  place  three  weeks,  had  as 
much  handshaking  as  if  I  had  been  there  three 
years.  All  such  a  splendid  lot  of  boys.  In- 
deed I  have  made  quite  a  number  of  friends 
and  they  are  of  the  first  order. 

You  ask  me  if  I  would  like  any  fruit.  My 
general  answer,  dear  ma,  to  all  such  requests 
is  going  to  be  a  shy  "Yes."  You  know  we  rise 
at  five  and  get  breakfast  around  seven,  so  you 
can  feel  how  weak  Daniel  must  be  at  that  time ; 
but  don't  send  any  of  that  beef  extract.  No 
matter  what  the  docs  say  about  it,  all  I  can  say 
is  that  it  makes  me  sick. 

I  am  hungry  and  will  stop  here  and  attend  to 
that.  With  my  love  to  you  and  Pa  and  Kate, 
Joe,  Maggie,  Earth,  Eugene,  Jerry,  Peter, 
aunts  and  all  the  children. 

Your  loving 
DANIEL. 

One  of  the  characteristics  of  Daniel's  boy 
letters  is  the  long  list  of  names  of  those  whom 
he  remembered.  He  was  learning  not  only 
how  to  make  friends  but  to  hold  them  with  a 
tenacity  that  grew  with  the  years. 

Boarding  school  letters  are  proverbially 
hard  things  to  write.  The  exterior  routine  is 


Some  Letters  57 

always  the  same  and  while  the  everyday  inci- 
dents in  a  group  of  several  hundred  boys  are 
sure  to  be  interesting,  yet  the  interest  has  so 
local  an  atmosphere  that  nobody  except  those 
on  the  inside  can  follow  the  fun.  Dan  felt  this 
and  said  so.  Some  of  his  letters  read  like 
telegraph  dispatches. 

February  26,  1891. 
Dear  Mother: 

Your  letter  reached  me  this  evening  and  it 
was  a  treat  to  hear  from  you. 

The  big  object  of  interest  down  here  at 
present  is  a  snow  storm.  You  see  we  don't 
go  very  far  in  thrills.  However,  it  is  a  change 
from  the  rain  which  has  been  coming  three 
times  a  week  lately. 

I  hear  our  Bishop  is  dying.  I  hope  it  is  not 
true. 

I  hope  you  are  taking  care  of  your  health 
and  that  Maggie  is  too.  Please  tell  her  not 
to  go  to  any  more  processions.  That's  one  of 
the  best  ways  of  getting  pneumonia,  standing 
in  a  lot  of  slushy  snow  to  see  a  crowd  go  by. 
Queer  she  hasn't  seen  enough  of  those  things. 

As  for  news,  I  am  a  blank.  Since  I  came 
back  it  has  been  merely  one  thing  after  an- 
other and  all  of  them  the  same. 


58  Some  Letters 

During  Lent  here  we  have  nothing  outside 
the  ordinary  services  and  it  seems  very  little 
like  the  season  as  I  have  been  accustomed  to  it 
at  home.  However,  if  we  do  what  is  required 
of  us,  we  can  hope  for  the  same  reward.  I 
hope  all  of  you  are  attending  Lenten  devotions 
as  often  as  you  can.  Do  not  brave  danger  to 
go,  nor  go  when  you  are  unable. 

I  am  feeling  better  than  when  I  wrote  be- 
fore, and  except  for  a  slight  headache  now  and 
then,  I  should  feel  O.K.  My  love  to  you  and 
to  all. 

Your  affectionate 
DANIEL. 

The  headaches  Dan  mentions  here  were  with 
him  most  of  his  life  afterward  and,  though  he 
was  not  aware  of  it,  they  presaged  the  end. 

During  the  following  year  Mrs.  Coffey's 
health  failed  somewhat  and  it  was  a  cause  of 
worry  to  Dan  as  is  shown  in  a  letter  to  his 
sister. 

ST.  CHARLES'  COLLEGE, 

Mar.  2,  1892. 
Dear  Joe: 

Many  thanks  for  your  generous  supply  of 
news.  It  was  refreshing  to  hear  of  people 


Some  Letters  59 

and  things  up  home.  I  only  regret  that  I  can- 
not reciprocate  in  kind. 

Poor  Mother!  How  often  I  think  of  her. 
Not  a  night,  or  even  any  part  of  the  day 
passes  that  I  do  not  think  of  her.  I  am  deter- 
mined that  she  and  I  shall  have  a  very  nice 
time  to  ourselves  all  next  summer.  I  shall 
keep  clear  of  all  "stragglers.'* 

When  I  read  of  the  boys  making  the  mis- 
sion I  was  delighted.  I  know  they  will  be 

blessed  for  it.  That  Father  D cured  a 

girl  in  Boston  recently,  who  had  been  a  cripple 
for  years.  She  and  he  prayed  to  Our  Lady  of 
Perpetual  Help  and  it  was  not  long  until  she 
was  perfectly  cured.  She  is  now  a  nun  in  a 
convent  in  Boston. 

Do  you  know,  I  felt  terrible  when  I  heard 
what  happened  to  poor  Mopsy,  for  I  did 
like  that  dog. 

I  am  puzzled,  Joe,  what  else  to  write  you 
from  this  place.  You  know  that  nothing  hap- 
pens here.  I'll  say  good-by  then  and  send  my 
love  to  Father,  Mother,  Kate,  Maggie  and  the 
boys,  not  forgetting  the  dog  and  puss.  Pray 
to  St.  Joseph  for  me.  I  need  his  help  this 
year  so  very  much.  Ask  him  to  help  me  and 
to  grant  my  special  intention.  You  will  see 


60  Some  Letters 

that  mother  does  not  have  anything  hard  to  do, 
like  a  good  girl.  With  love, 

DANIEL. 

One  of  the  traditions,  privileges,  or,  as  he 
would  put  it,  one  of  the  "sacred  duties"  of  a 
boarding  school  boy  is  to  attack  the  "grub." 
It  is  one  of  his  favorite  indoor  and  outdoor 
sports.  Indoor — implying  a  fierce  dental  at- 
tack three  times  a  day.  Outdoor — a  scathing 
verbal  attack  on  the  general  theme,  "The  way 
we  suffer."  Perhaps  it  is  unfair  to  limit  this 
characteristic  to  the  boarding  school  boy. 
Any  group  of  men,  say  in  the  army  or  navy, 
who  lead  a  routine  life,  will  make  the  "grub" 
their  main  point  of  attack.  During  the  late 
war,  I  have  seen  big  men,  who  left  responsible 
positions  to  enlist,  who  had  never  in  their  lives 
given  two  thoughts  to  the  matter  of  food,  sit- 
ting in  the  midst  of  their  mates  and  "bouncing 
the  chow"  with  a  comic  viciousness;  and  they 
were  a  pink  portrait  of  health  at  the  moment, 
transformed  from  the  sickly  civic  yellow  tint 
they  brought  with  them  a  few  weeks  before. 
The  boarding  school  boy,  however,  has  always 
been  the  recognized  champion  at  this  game,  the 
only  drawback  being  that  his  appearance  in- 
variably belies  his  words.  Dan  contributes  a 
punch  or  two  to  the  great  cause. 


Some  Letters  61 

ST.  CHARLES',  December  6, 1892. 
Dear  Joe: 

Nothing  pleased  me  more  than  to  hear  that 
Jimmie  was  looking  so  well.  Although  I 
should  say  nothing  about  the  scamp  since  he 
did  not  answer  my  letter  of  some  time  ago. 
He  dare  not  plead  any  excuse. 

'Tis  well  mother  did  not  send  me  my  plum 
pudding,  for  it  would  have  gone  where  the  cake 
went.  Tell  mother  the  cake  went  to  the 
"poor,"  so  I  was  not  in  on  it.  But  if  it  struck 
any  poorer  person  than  myself,  he,  or  she,  was 
welcome  to  it.  There  is  nothing  more  laugh- 
able than  inconsistency.  You  will  be  allowed 
candy,  which  I  am  not  very  fond  of;  and  that 
which  might  give  you  an  appetite  is  given  to 
the  "poor."  Well,  such  is  life,  but  there  is  one 
consolation  that  life  is  not  stationary.  It  gets 
a  move  on  it  once  in  a  while. 

Ask  Kate  if  she  will  make  me  a  few  sponge 
cakes  and  send  them  down  for  Christmas. 
Even  her  cooking,  or  even  yours,  would  go  well 
down  here. 

I  will  not  ask  Maggie  to  write,  since  I  know 
she  has  enough  to  do  with  her  sick  one.  Tell 
me  what  is  the  trouble.  I  am  very  anxious  to 
know.  Nothing  serious,  I  hope. 

My  love  now  to  Mother,  Pa,  Kate,  Maggie 


62  Some  Letters 

and  the  boys  with  yourself,  "Flanagan,"  not 
forgetting  "Chickens." 

Your  loving  brother, 
DANIEL. 

P.S.  Since  I  finished  this  something  hap- 
pened. You  know  they  do  not  allow  us  cake 
except  at  Christmas,  so  they  took  mine.  Well, 
I  said  nothing  but  let  them  take  it ;  and  I  went 
on  the  sly  to  good  old  Kate  and  she  got  it  for 
me  by  stealing  it  from  the  kitchen;  and  not 
only  the  one  that  was  taken  but  another  one 
with  it.  Such  a  feast  as  we  had!  I  have  some 
of  it  yet.  Myself  and  Tim,  whom  Jimmie 
knows,  have  our  cocoa  and  lunch  all  to  our- 
selves on  holidays.  Tim  is  the  organist  and 
has  a  room;  hence,  I  am  in  it,  too.  He 
brought  a  stock  with  him  of  all  sorts  of  good 
things  with  some  cocoa,  and  I  with  mine,  we 
get  a  pretty  good  lunch.  I  often  think, 
"What's  the  use  of  knocking  the  grub?  It 
comes  back  at  you  like  a  punching  bag  any- 
way." 

Yours, 

DANIEL. 

During  the  summer  of  1893  Daniel  visited 
Chicago  and  the  World's  Fair.     His  impres- 


Some  Letters  63 

sions  are  given  in  a  letter  to  his  sister.  "Bill," 
mentioned  in  the  letter,  is  Father  William 
Ryan;  and  "Joe  Lynch's  place"  is  the  boyhood 
home  of  the  now  Right  Reverend  Joseph 
Lynch,  D.D.,  the  present  Bishop  of  Dallas, 
Texas. 

CHICAGO,  August  25,  1893. 
My  Dear  Josie: 

I  suppose  you  have  become  weary  of  postals 
and  would  enjoy  a  long  letter.  This  will  not 
be  a  long  letter  though,  because  I  am  so  rushed 
that  I  haven't  the  time.  How  did  Mother  and 
Kate  enjoy  their  sojourn  in  the  mountains? 
And  how  are  "Chickens"  and  all  at  home? 
My  love  to  them  one  and  all. 

On  Saturday  morning  last,  Bill  and  I 
started  for  St.  Joe,  Michigan — Joe  Lynch's 
place — and  remained  there  till  Sunday  night, 
crossing  the  lake  both  ways.  St.  Joe  is  noth- 
ing but  fruit  farms.  Our  friend  has  miles  and 
miles  of  grapes,  peaches,  pears,  berries.  All 
we  had  to  do  was  to  go  and  pluck  them,  drink 
rich  milk  and  eat  homemade  bread.  Such  a 
feast! 

We  went  to  St.  Joseph's  Church  in  the 
morning.  The  idea  seemed  to  be  that  I  was 
to  sing  at  the  Offertory  and  Bill  was  to  play; 


64  Some  Letters 

but  we  wouldn't.  We  saw  the  whole  plac* 
and  returned  reluctantly  Sunday  night;  then 
we  went  to  Lemont  and  thence  to  a  friend's  in 
Joliet.  Was  all  through  the  prison,  several 
churches  and  saw  the  principal  places  in  the 
town.  Bill  came  up  from  Lemont  in  the 
evening.  They  took  us  out  for  a  drive,  and 
when  we  returned  there  was  a  house  full  of 
company  and  we  were  entertained  till  all  hours. 
Oh,  such  people!  The  only  way  I  could  tear 
myself  from  them  was  to  promise  that  I  would 
return  for  a  few  days  before  I  left  for  home. 

Wednesday  I  took  in  Milwaukee  and  came 
down  by  night  boat  all  through  the  lake.  It 
was  glorious.  Last  night,  the  Midway  Plais- 
ance  at  the  Fair!  If  you  could  only  see  the 
Plaisance!  Chinese  theaters,  Turks,  Zulus, 
Igorrotes,  every  crazy  thing  in  creation.  I 
am  sore  from  laughing.  To-day  is  colored 
folks  day  at  the  Fair.  They  are  out  in 
swarms.  I  am  resting  to-day  making  ready 
for  Sunday. 

I  suppose  things  are  rushing  up  home. 
Well,  give  me  Chicago.  I  like  it  very  much. 
I  somehow  think  I'd  like  to  live  here.  Per- 
haps I  might.  I  have  certainly  made  many 
friends  and  I  like  the  city.  When  I  shall  re- 
turn has  not  for  a  moment  given  me  a  thought. 


Some  Letters  65 

How  long  I  shall  stay  seems  to  be  my  pre- 
dominating cogitation  at  present. 

How  is  Jerry?  Give  him  my  love.  I'll 
give  him  something  else  when  I  get  rich.  Has 
Maggie  gone  to  the  country?  Is  she  well?  I 
do  not  know  why  she  does  not  write.  I  shall 
always  remember  her  exceeding  kindness  to 
me. 

Send  me  all  the  news  from  dear  old  Brook- 
lyn, especially  of  the  home.  My  love  to 
Father  Hickey  and  Father  Farrell. 

Affectionately, 
DANIEL. 


CHAPTER  VI 
TOWARD  THE  ALTAR 

DURING  the  next  six  years  Daniel 
Coffey  moved  steadily  ahead  through 
his  studies,  the  classics,  philosophy,  theology; 
following  the  regular  course  of  the  candidate 
for  the  priesthood  at  St.  Mary's,  Baltimore, 
a  year  in  Canada,  and  finally  at  the  University 
of  Niagara,  New  York.  His  year  in  Canada 
was  necessitated  by  reasons  of  health.  It  was 
partly  devoted  to  teaching  English,  and  it  gave 
him  valuable  help  later  for  the  practical  direc- 
tion of  his  school.  That  he  was  a  successful 
professor  may  be  gathered  from  the  following 
sketch,  a  memory  of  those  days,  by  the  Very 
Reverend  Father  Charlebois,  now  the  Supe- 
rior General  of  the  Viatorians.  He  writes: 

"Father  Daniel  Coffey  taught  for  our  Or- 
der at  Bourget  College,  Rigaud,  Canada.  I 
was  then  the  Superior  of  the  College  and 
though  it  is  now  a  long  time  ago,  I  have  never 
forgotten  the  devout,  intelligent,  active  and  al- 
ways happy-humored  man  that  Father  Coffey 

66 


Toward  the  Altar  67 

always  was.  In  the  midst  of  the  professors  he 
had  ever  ready  a  word  to  evoke  a  smile,  or  to 
rouse  their  courage.  For  life  with  those 
young  professors  was  not  always  of  a  roseate 
hue. 

"These  young  men  were  grouped  in  narrow 
rooms,  entirely  devoid  of  the  least  luxuries  in 
furnishings;  but  they  knew  how  to  make  the 
most  of  their  surroundings  and  what  was  de- 
nied to  them  in  one  way  they  made  up  in  an- 
other. A  tone  of  happiness,  contentment, 
even  gayety  ever  prevailed  there.  As  the 
walls  which  separated  their  rooms  consisted  of 
thin  board  partitions,  often  their  joyous  con- 
versations could  be  heard  easily  from  one  end 
of  the  corridor  to  the  other  and  at  times  the 
Superior,  passing  that  way,  was  called  upon 
to  check  their  hilarity.  A  single  word  was 
sufficient  and  never  do  I  remember  having  to 
give  a  severe  reprimand.  An  'All  right' 
from  Dan  was  a  guarantee  for  himself  and  his 
companions. 

"Father  Coffey  was  a  genuine  professor  and 
gave  himself  heart  and  soul  to  his  work.  He 
loved  his  pupils  and  was  in  turn  loved  by  them. 
Not  only  was  his  teaching  of  a  high  order,  for 
he  knew  as  few  do  how  to  make  his  subject 
matter  interesting,  agreeable  and  profitable, 


68  Toward  the  Altar 

but  he  was  a  companion  of  his  pupils,  joining 
happily  with  them  in  their  recreations,  thus 
rendering  them  further  service  by  helping  them 
to  put  into  practice  what  he  had  taught  them 
in  class. 

"Of  course  his  principal  duty  was  his  per- 
sonal studies,  as  at  this  time  he  was  preparing 
for  the  priesthood,  and  I  must  say  that  neither 
his  gayety  nor  his  work  for  others  ever  dis- 
tracted Dan  Coffey  from  the  end  he  had  in 
view.  He  wished  to  be  a  priest  and  indeed  he 
had  all  the  aptitude  and  every  quality  required 
for  the  priesthood.  He  knew  how  to  be  seri- 
ous and  laborious  when  necessary  and  he  ar- 
rived at  his  goal,  where  he  proved  his  ability, 
skill  and  extraordinary  worth. 

"His  theological  science,  added  to  his  keen 
insight  into  character,  was  of  the  utmost  prac- 
tical help  to  the  souls  in  his  care;  and  the  art 
of  preaching  held  no  secrets  from  him. 
Father  Coffey  held  important  posts  and  his 
work  was  admirable. 

"I  visited  him  in  1902  and  had  the  occasion 
to  congratulate  him  upon  his  success  as  an  ad- 
ministrator, an  organizer  and  a  director  of 
souls.  I  found  he  had  accomplished  marvelous 
things  and  I  was  indeed  proud  of  his  success 
in  the  holy  ministry." 


Toward  the  Altar  69 

It  is  evident  from  these  words  of  Father 
Charlebois  that  the  striking  many-sidedness  of 
Dan  Coffey's  character  was  well  on  the  way 
to  its  perfect  growth  of  after  years.  He  could 
be  gay  and  yet  dependable;  could  interest 
youth  in  the  classroom  and,  as  well,  on  the 
playground;  accept  direction,  or  even  correc- 
tion, intelligently  and  cheerfully;  could  inter- 
est himself  deeply  in  others  and  not  forget  him- 
self and  his  duties  in  all  their  details.  The 
"joy  of  life"  had  its  personification  in  Daniel 
Coffey.  He  lived  intensely,  laboriously, 
swiftly,  yet  with  such  a  glow  and  a  sparkle  and 
a  sunniness  woven  into  his  work,  that  an  air  of 
ease  and  playfulness  made  the  most  difficult 
task  seem  simple.  In  the  words  of  one  who 
knew  him  well,  "His  brilliancy  attracted 
friends  and  his  solidity  retained  them." 

It  was  with  regret,  then,  that  his  friends  at 
Bourget  College  saw  him  depart,  to  take  up  his 
theology  at  Niagara  University.  There  he 
settled  to  his  work  at  once.  The  usual  note  of 
happy  contentment  is  in  his  letters. 

NIAGARA,  N.  Y.,  May  17,  1898. 
My  Dear  Ma: 

I  suppose  you  have  me  booked  as  a  careless 
lad  for  keeping  you  so  long  without  a  letter. 


70  Toward  the  Altar 

I  thought  I  wrote  to  you  last  week  but  discov- 
ered only  recently  that  I  had  not.  How  are 
your  eyes?  I  pray  the  good  St.  Paul  that  he 
will  be  your  friend  and  cure  you.  There  is  an 
old  man  here  who  has  just  been  cured  of  a  cata- 
ract and  now  sees  as  well  as  ever;  and  Will 
Ryan  writes  me  of  many  old  people  who  have 
been  cured  where  he  is  having  his  eyes  at- 
tended to.  Cheer  up,  now,  and  when  I  go 
home  we  will  have  our  old  rambles  together. 

I  do  not  know  when  we  shall  leave  here  but 
it  will  be  some  time  around  June  23rd.  The 
students  seem  so  happy  here  that  vacation 
never  enters  their  mind.  We  are  living  in  a 
beautiful  place.  There  are  miles  and  miles  of 
blossoming  fruit  trees  and  a  country  far  more 
lovely  than  any  I  have  ever  seen.  My  friends 
tell  me  that  I  am  looking  wonderfully  well  of 
late.  I  am  waiting  for  them  to  tell  me  that 
I  am  good  looking  but  they  haven't  gone  that 
far  yet.  Anyhow  I  have  gained  eight  pounds 
in  the  past  few  months  and,  thank  God,  never 
felt  better. 

Tell  me  how  you  all  are  at  home  and  how 
the  war  is  using  you.  It  is  nothing  but  war  up 
this  way  and  the  papers  are  full  of  it.  The 
country  around  is  clraped  in  the  Stars  and 
Stripes. 


Toward  the  Altar  71 

Now,  dear,  write  soon  and  tell  me  how  your 
eyes  are.  By  the  way,  did  Jerry  receive  that 
picture  of  the  Maine  I  sent  him?  If  anyone 
has  any  spare  silver  dollars  about  him,  tell  him 
to  start  them  rolling  this  way.  I'll  stop  them 
before  they  go  over  the  Falls. 

Yours  always, 
DANIEL. 

The  year  1899  brought  to  a  close  the  long 
years  of  preparation.  In  March  of  this  year 
Dan  was  ordained  to  the  deaconship  and  on 
May  27th  he  was  made  a  priest.  On  the  occa- 
sion of  his  deaconship  he  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  his  mother,  which  reveals  depths  in 
his  soul  which,  with  native  reticence,  he  rarely 
allowed  to  appear  even  to  those  who  were 
nearest  to  him. 

NIAGARA,  N.  Y.,  March  20,  1899. 
My  Dear  Mother: 

I  know  you  will  feel  glad  and  rejoice  with 
me  on  the  happiest  day  of  my  life.  Last  Sat- 
urday I  was  raised  to  the  deaconship  and  re- 
ceived the  Holy  Spirit,  I  hope  with  all  His 
gifts. 

Yes,  the  happiest  day  of  my  life — when 
prostrate  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  I  did  not 


72  Toward  the  Altar 

forget  you.  I  offered  myself  to  God  to  do  all 
for  Him  and  I  asked  that  you  might  be  spared 
to  me,  that  He  might  give  you  your  sight  and 
bless  you  with  His  best  gifts.  I  prayed  for 
Kate  to  become  strong  and  I  know  He  will 
hear  my  prayer.  I  prayed  for  Father,  for  Joe 
and  Maggie,  for  Eugene  and  Barth,  for  my 
good  friend  Jerry;  for  all  of  you  and  your 
intentions. 

The  most  solemn  moment  of  my  life  was 
when  the  Bishop  placed  his  hand  on  my  head 
and  the  stole  on  my  shoulders,  called  down  the 
Holy  Ghost  upon  me  and  gave  me  the  power 
to  touch  our  Lord  in  the  Holy  Sacrament;  to 
carry  Him  in  necessity  and  to  serve  Him 
purely  and  chastely. 

I  did  not  even  then  forget  you,  and  I  feel  in 
my  heart  that  you  and  Kate  will  have  your 
health  and  that  the  others  shall  have  favors 
from  Him  in  proportion  to  their  needs.  I  re- 
membered you  all  in  my  first  Office  and  I  shall 
continue  to  do  so  every  day. 

The  prayer  I  first  came  upon  in  the  Office 
was  this:  "Thy  prayers  have  been  heard  from 
the  beginning,  Daniel,"  said  by  the  Angel 
Gabriel  to  Daniel  the  Prophet,  but  as  I  look 
over  my  life  I  feel  that  the  Angel  then  spoke 
to  me  also. 


Toward  the  Altar  73 

I  have  but  one  step  to  the  priesthood.  Pray 
for  me  with  all  your  hearts.  Ask  God  to  make 
me  strong  and  ready  to  do  His  work.  Thank 
Him  and  His  Mother  for  all  they  have  done; 
and  whatever  He  bids  me  to  do,  ask  that  we 
may  all  wish  according  to  His  will.  Love  to 
all  of  you  and  God  bless  and  keep  you. 

Yours  with  love, 
DANIEL. 

Across  the  top  of  the  page  is  written:  "This 
letter  is  strictly  private,  for  the  family." 


CHAPTER  VII 

EARLY  DAYS  IN  THE 
MINISTRY 

AFTER  his  ordination  Father  Coffey  was 
sent  to  St.  Dominic's  Church,  Columbus, 
Ohio,  to  assist  the  Reverend  Father  O'Reilly, 
who  had  built  up  single-handed  a  very  fine 
parish  in  what  was  then  the  suburbs  of  the 
city.  Father  O'Reilly  was  not  long  in  seeing 
the  capacity  of  Father  Coffey  and  as  he  had 
not  had  a  rest  for  many  years,  he  turned  the 
whole  management  of  the  parish  over  to  Father 
Coffey  after  a  few  weeks,  and  enjoyed  a  sum- 
mer's vacation. 

Father  Coffey  took  up  the  work  and  follow- 
ing strictly  along  the  lines  of  the  parish 
methods  as  established  by  the  pastor,  became 
so  great  a  favorite  with  the  congregation  in  a 
few  short  months  that  he  is  vividly  and  grate- 
fully remembered  by  the  parish,  priest  and 
people,  to  this  day.  On  a  recent  visit  there,  I 
found  those  who  were  children  at  that  time 
still  recalling  with  a  smile  his  happy  sayings 

74 


Early  Days  in  the  Ministry  75 

and  his  games  with  them.  The  older  people 
spoke  with  deep  affection  of  his  many  kind- 
nesses, his  attentiveness  to  the  sick  and  the 
sunshine  he  spread  in  an  already  sunny  parish. 
Upon  the  return  of  Father  O'Reilly,  Father 
Coffey  was  given  his  first  official  appointment, 
to  assist  at  St.  Anthony's  Church,  Bridgeport, 
Ohio.  Father  Joseph  A.  Weigand,  the  pres- 
ent pastor  of  the  fine  parish  of  the  Holy  Name 
in  Steubenville,  was  then  the  pastor  in  Bridge- 
port. We  can  get  an  idea  of  the  year's  work 
of  Father  Coffey  there  from  a  letter  to  his 
mother. 

ST.  ANTHONY'S  CHURCH 
BRIDGEPORT,  OHIO,  August  31,  1899. 
My  Dear  Ma: 

Here  I  am  settled  in  my  new  home.  I  left 
Columbus  on  Saturday  last,  having  been  ap- 
pointed to  this  place.  I  like  it  very  much  and 
am  quite  happy.  Bridgeport  is  just  opposite 
Wheeling,  West  Virginia,  on  the  Ohio  side  of 
the  river.  It  is  situated  in  a  lovely  part  of 
the  Ohio  Valley,  and  it  reminds  me  very  much 
of  the  cities  along  the  Hudson,  mountains  and 
valleys  and  the  Ohio  River  winding  all  along 
the  country  for  miles. 

Business  is  rushing  this  way — glass  manu- 


76  Early  Days  in  the  Ministry 

facturing,  iron  mills,  the  mines  and  one  hun- 
dred other  kinds  of  trades  are  all  on  full  time. 
All  the  works  that  have  been  idle  since  the 
panic  are  again  rushing  ahead  on  increased 
wages.  The  people  all  seem  happy  and  pros- 
perous. I  hope  they  will  continue  so. 

The  church  here  is  called  after  St.  An- 
thony of  Padua.  It  is  a  very  beautiful  church, 
set  upon  a  hill  and  in  the  heart  of  the  pines  and 
maples.  It  is  of  solid  brick,  nicely  decorated 
and  over  the  main  altar  stands  St.  Anthony 
who,  with  the  Infant,  looks  down  upon  me  as 
I  say  Mass.  The  picture  of  Our  Lady  of  Per- 
petual Help  and  of  the  Infant  of  Prague  are 
here,  too. 

I  like  the  church  and  the  people.  Every 
day  fresh  fruit,  butter  and  vegetables,  grapes 
in  plenty  and  anything  else  that  comes  in  sea- 
son. 

The  priest  of  St.  Dominic's  was  quite 
pleased  with  my  management  of  things  and  I 
made  many  friends  among  the  people.  I  was 
very  much  at  home  there.  Tell  Miss  Josie  she 
need  not  go  up  to  the  Swedish  church  any  more 
as  St.  Anthony  at  this  place  will  do  anything 
she  wants.  Only  that  the  distance  is  so  great 
I  would  have  Kate,  Chickens,  Grace  and  Pa 
come  and  spend  a  day  with  me. 


Early  Days  in  the  Ministry  77 

Our  school  opens  on  Monday  next.  Have 
you  moved  yet?  I  hope  you  are  all  well  and 
happy.  I  said  Mass  for  Barth  on  Saturday 
last,  St.  Bartholomew's  day.  I  remember  you 
all  every  day  at  Mass. 

Yours  with  love, 
DANIEL. 

Father  Coffey  took  a  short  trip  to  New 
York  shortly  after  this  and  upon  his  return 
wrote  the  following  note  to  his  mother. 

BRIDGEPORT,  October  12,  1899. 
My  Dear  Ma: 

I  suppose  you  received  my  postal.  I  am 
safely  back  and  the  people  are  glad  I  returned. 
The  children  of  the  school  prepared  a  little 
entertainment  of  welcome,  and  I  was  received 
with  great  applause  from  the  little  ones — a 
regular  Dewey  reception.  The  Sisters,  too, 
were  glad  to  see  me  and  surprised  me  with  a 
very  pretty  surplice.  Lasso,  my  dog,  took  a 
whole  day  to  show  his  welcome.  He  is  with 
me  all  the  time. 

I  was  glad  to  get  back  from  the  noise  of  New 
York.  The  hills  all  about  are  tinged  with  the 
frosts  of  autumn  and  the  weather  is  charming. 
The  people  are  working  hard  for  the  fair  and  I 


78  Early  Days  in  the  Ministry 

think  they  have  nearly  five  hundred  dollars  in 
money  and  articles.  I  am  giving  a  course  of 
instructions  every  Wednesday  night  on  the 
Rosary  and  intend  to  start  one  on  the  Mass 
Sunday  evenings. 

I  enjoyed  those  buns.  I  passed  them 
around  to  advertise  you  and  everyone  thought 
they  were  lovely.  My  love  to  all  at  home.  I 
have  not  forgotten  any  of  you  in  my  Masses 
and  you  I  remember  especially. 

With  love, 
DANIEL. 

The  following  year  Father  Coffey  was  as- 
signed to  organize  a  parish  in  Barnesville, 
Ohio,  and  there  he  began  his  work  as  a  pastor. 
It  was  a  really  a  reorganizing  that  he  had  be- 
fore him.  A  parish  had  been  started  in  the 
town  some  years  before,  but  a  series  of 
setbacks  had  so  paralyzed  its  activities 
that  for  a  time  previous  to  Father  Cof- 
fey's  coming  no  priest  had  been  assigned 
to  the  place.  It  had  been  a  small  congrega- 
tion dependent  upon  a  glass  works  for  employ- 
ment, and  as  these  had  been  in  operation  only 
a  few  months  of  the  year  during  the  several 
years  previous,  the  people  had  necessarily  be- 
come transients.  On  the  heels  of  these  woes, 


Early  Days  in  the  Ministry  79 

the  church  burned  down.  There  were  no 
funds  to  rebuild  and  a  death-like  state  of  coma 
followed.  Father  Coffey  was  asked  to  revi- 
vify the  corpse. 

It  wasn't  much  of  a  prospect  that  he  faced 
the  summer  afternoon  he  left  the  train  and 
started  for  the  top  of  the  highest  hill  in  the 
neighborhood.  For  that  was  where  his  resi- 
dence was  to  be.  He  climbed  the  hill  to  his 
house  and  took  an  inventory,  to  wit: 

Item — One  house,  warped  into  a  clever  imi- 
tation of  the  Leaning  Tower  of  Pisa. 

Item — One  cemetery;  weed-grown  and  ne- 
glected; tombstones  peering  spookily  over 
tangles  of  reeds  and  long  grass.  "It  was  the 
most  realistic  cemetery  I  ever  lived  in,"  said 
Father  Dan.  "You  could  be  sure  they  were 
dead  in  there,  or  they  would  never  have  stood 
for  the  treatment  they  were  getting." 

Item — One  large  heap  of  blackened  beams, 
timbers,  half-burned  boards,  chimney  bricks 
and  broken  glass  that  used  to  be  a  church. 
Beyond  these,  on  all  sides  around  him — the 
horizon. 

"I  was  like  St.  Simon  Stylites,"  he  used  to 
say  in  describing  it,  "alone  on  the  top  of  a 
pillar.  Only  if  I  remember  rightly,  St.  Simon 
used  to  have  a  crowd  of  live  persons  gathered 


80  Early  Days  in  the  Ministry 

at  the  foot  of  the  pillar.     All  I  had  around 
me  were  dead  ones." 

The  records  by  no  means  tell  us,  however, 
that  Father  Dan  sat  dolorously  down  on  the 
threshold  of  his  house  and  burying  his  face  in 
his  hands,  gave  one  long  melodramatic  moan 
over  all  sad  things  that  were  and  that  were  yet 
to  be.  Tears,  idle  tears,  were  never  a  part 
of  his  program. 

The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  start  "into  the 
jungle"  as  he  called  it,  to  hunt  up  his  parish- 
ioners. He  liked  them,  liked  everything  they 
did.  He  praised  their  town,  their  little  homes, 
their  work.  He  got  close  to  the  children,  had 
them  all  by  their  first  names,  Jack,  Billy,  Mar- 
garet, Mary,  until  in  a  minute  they  were  no 
more  afraid  of  him  than  they  were  of  each 
other.  He  even  praised  the  church,  what  was 
left  of  it.  "What  a  wonderful  location  it  has !" 
he  said,  with  a  hidden  meaning,  we  suspect,  in 
the  word  "wonderful."  Before  the  people 
knew  it  he  had  stolen  into  their  hearts. 

Then  he  invited  his  friends  among  the  clergy 
to  visit  him.  "Come,"  he  wrote,  "and  enjoy 
the  rare  atmosphere  and  the  marvelous  view. 
It's  like  living  in  a  balloon.  If  you  have  never 
made  a  pilgrimage  in  your  life,  now  is  the 
time.  Come  to  the  Holy  Hill." 


Early  Days  in  the  Ministry  81 

On  spare  days  they  visited  him.  He  showed 
them  over  the  house.  "After  living  in  this 
house  a  week,"  he  said,  "y°u  could  walk  a 
tight  rope  in  a  circus."  He  took  them  outside 
for  the  view. 

"A  beautiful  location  for  a  church!"  he  com- 
mented. "Here  you  have  a  commanding  view 
of  whole  counties  at  a  glance.  With  the  aid 
of  a  spyglass  I  can  see  in  a  second  just  how 
my  parish  is  going;  and  in  case  of  a  flood, 
they'll  all  come  to  church.  They're  certain 
to  be  safe  here.  Sure,  the  Catholics  of  Barnes- 
ville  are  favored  above  all.  Dead  or  alive, 
they're  nearer  heaven." 

Of  course,  he  would  admit,  with  apparent 
reluctance,  what  he  termed  "the  natural  draw- 
backs." In  summer  it  was  too  hot  for  the  par- 
ishioners to  climb  the  hill  and  in  winter  it  was 
too  slippery  for  them  even  to  attempt  it. 

After  this,  Father  Coffey  would  take  his 
visitor  out  to  call  on  the  people.  When  they 
saw  so  many  priests  coming  to  Barnes ville, 
they  were  amazed.  They  had  not  been  aware 
that  their  town  was  so  important.  They  had 
thought  that  not  one  priest  could  live  in 
Barnesville.  Now  they  saw  them  making  pil- 
grimages to  the  place.  • 

Meantime  Father  Coffey  was  on  the  watch. 


82          Early  Days  in  the  Ministry 

At  first  he  said  Mass  in  his  house,  which  under 
the  conditions  was  sufficiently  large  to  answer 
the  needs  of  that  portion  of  the  congregation 
who  could  get  there.  To  answer  the  conveni- 
ence of  all  his  people,  however,  he  must  have 
a  more  central  and  accessible  location.  The 
only  place  he  could  possibly  find  was  a  large 
store  in  the  town.  It  had  been  to  let  for  so 
long  a  time  that  only  tradition  told  of  a  tenant. 

Father  Coffey  rented  the  place  and  it  did 
not  take  him  long  to  find  the  source  of  the  tra- 
dition. Up  to  this  time  his  troubles  had  come 
from  above.  Now  they  began  to  come  from 
below.  Barnesville  is  somewhat  of  a  railroad 
town  and  directly  underneath  his  "church"  ran 
a  net  of  tracks,  with  switch  engines,  freight 
and  passenger  locomotives  dashing  and  pant- 
ing and  puffing  and  whistling  constantly. 
The  "church"  was  built  out  over  the  railroad's 
right  of  way. 

The  first  Sunday  there,  Father  Coffey  said  a 
High  Mass,  and  though  he  had  a  much  better 
congregation  than  up  on  the  hill,  the  noise  of 
the  trains  was  frightful. 

"I  hope  the  Lord  will  forgive  me  for  bring- 
ing Him  to  such  a  place,"  said  Father  Dan, 
speaking  to  a  brother  priest  a  few  days  after. 
"I  never  felt  so  guilty;  it  was  like  a  burlesque 


Early  Days  in  the  Ministry  83 

on  the  ceremonies  of  the  Church.  I  sang  the 
'Dominus  vobiscum?  and  I  was  answered  by  a 
whistle  that  was  inspired  by  Lucifer.  I 
started  to  preach  and  tons  of  smoke  rolled  in 
through  the  windows  until  I  couldn't  see  my 
congregation  and  every  time  I  breathed  I 
nearly  choked.  It  didn't  seem  like  ordinary 
smoke,  either.  It  came  up  from  the  lower 
regions.  I  began  the  Preface  and  they  began 
ringing  bells  down  below  me  that  gave  me  the 
distracting  thought,  'If  you  weren't  cast  in 
hell,  you  ought  to  be.'  I'll  never  forget  that 
terrible  morning  and  I  hope  God  will  forgive 
me,  for  He  knows  I  didn't  mean  it.  But  that 
place  is  impossible." 

Father  Dan  had  the  great  gift  of  tunneling 
in  the  dark  and  of  singing  as  he  tunneled.  He 
needed  every  bit  of  his  gift  to  make  the  right 
start  in  Barnesville.  He  began  looking  for 
another  spot  for  his  church.  Ultimately,  he 
knew,  he  would  have  to  build.  The  thing  to 
do  was  to  acquire  a  building  site.  He  looked 
over  the  town  and  found  a  site  just  suited  for 
a  church  and  a  house.  This  piece  of  ground 
had  been  listed  for  sale  and  the  price  adver- 
tised. Father  Coffey  called  on  the  owner  who 
had  the  reputation  in  the  town  of  being  rather 
too  shrewd.  Father  Dan  was  not  aware  of 


84  Early  Days  in  the  Ministry 

this  at  the  time  so  he  told  his  sad  story  fully 
to  the  owner. 

"We  are  forced  to  buy,"  he  concluded,  "but 
our  location  here  will  be  a  good  thing  for  you, 
also.  It  will  bring  Catholics  around  the 
church  and  thus  enable  you  to  sell  your  other 
holdings. 

"Yes,  I  see,"  replied  the  owner;  "and  I 
shall  do  what  I  can,  Father;  but  property  has 
gone  up  rapidly  just  lately  and  the  best  price 

I  can  make  for  you  is "  and  he  named  a 

price  hundreds  of  dollars  above  the  listed  price. 

Father  Dan  said  not  a  word  but  started  out 
of  the  office.  He  was  followed  to  the  door  by 
the  owner. 

"Just  a  moment,  Father,"  said  he.  "Con- 
sidering what  you  have  said,  I  think  I  may  be 
able  to — er —  adjust  that  price.  How  about 
?"  and  he  named  the  original  listed  price. 

"I  wouldn't  take  it  from  you  now  as  a  gift," 
said  Father  Dan  and  he  left  the  office. 

Quite  by  accident  Father  Dan  met  a  friend 
in  a  neighboring  city  where  he  happened  to  be 
visiting,  and  their  conversation  drifted  to  the 
recently  attempted  purchase  of  the  building 
lot  and  of  the  apparently  final  failure. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  tell  me  all  this,"  said 
the  friend.  "I  happen  just  now  to  be  buying 


Early  Days  in  the  Ministry  85 

land  in  Barnesville  myself  and  if  I  mistake  not 
we  have  had  in  view,  among  other  pieces,  the 
precise  lots  you  describe.  If  we  can  get  them 
they  are  yours  at  the  price  we  pay  for  them." 

Within  a  week  Father  Coffey  had  the  lots 
and  at  a  much  lower  figure  than  the  original 
offer.  He  did  not  take  much  pains,  either,  to 
keep  the  particulars  of  the  deal  a  secret.  The 
whole  town  knew  it  in  a  few  days  and  the  stock 
of  the  Catholic  priest  jumped  several  points 
for  his  outwitting  of  the  "sharpest  man  in 
town." 

"It  was  all  luck  and  no  sense,"  said  Father 
Dan;  "but  I'd  rather  have  luck  than  sense.  It 
proves  that  the  Lord  is  with  the  simple,"  and  he 
assumed  a  canonized  look  of  childlike  naivete 
which  more  than  hinted  that  he  had  at  least 
sense  enough  to  enjoy  his  luck. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

* 

ANOTHER  TUNNEL 

FATHER  DAN  had  dug  the  first  tunnel 
through,  only  to  face  another  and,  appar- 
ently,   a   rockier   prospect.     What    about    a 
church  * 

.,  could  not  at  this  time  ask  his  people  to 
uuild  a  church.  They  did  not  have  the  money. 
As  we  have  said,  the  congregation  was  small, 
the  work  at  the  glass  factory  intermittent. 
They  had  all  they  could  do  to  tide  themselves 
across  the  "slack"  periods. 

Father  Dan  offered  many  prayers  to  Our 
Lady  of  Perpetual  Help,  watching  while  he 
prayed.  He  discovered  that  the  Methodists 
of  the  town  had  plans  for  a  new  church  and 
were  offering  the  old  church  at  a  mere  kind- 
ling-wood price.  Father  Dan  looked  over  the 
building  and  saw  he  could  easily  transform  it 
into  a  church  well  suited  to  his  needs. 

"It  was  a  great  chance  to  get  something  for 
nothing,"  he  said. 

86 


Another  Tunnel  87 

He  bought  the  church,  the  pews,  lectern, 
organ  and  bell.  After  the  place  had  passed 
into  Father  Coffey's  hands,  the  vacating  con- 
gregation asked  him  if  they  might  have  few 
farewell  reunions  for  the  sake  of  old  times. 
Permission  was  readily  granted  and  they  had 
three  reunions.  The  children  had  one,  the 
young  men  and  women  another,  and  finally  the 
old  people  gathered  for  a  last  meeting  in  the 
old  church.  It  was  purely  a  social  meeting. 
Father  Coffey  was  invited  to  attend  and  he  did, 
mingling  in  his  happy  way  with  all  the  guests. 
At  the  close  he  was  invited  to  say  a  few  words. 
He  mounted  a  platform  and  said : 

"My  dear  friends,  it  is  and  always  will  be 
a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  know  you  and  re- 
member you.  It  is  an  equal  pleasure  to  think 
that  you  have  contributed  as  you  have  done,  to 
the  Catholic  Church,  and  I  am  sure  God  will 
bless  you  for  it.  I  shall  pray  often  for  you  all 
at  Mass  in  this  church  and  one  of  the  blessings 
I  am  going  to  ask  for  you  is  that  when  you 
have  your  new  church  finished,  you  will  do 
just  what  you  have  done  here — invite  me  and 
my  congregation  to  take  it  over,  remain  with 
us  yourselves  and  we'll  all  be  Catholics  to- 
gether, 'one  Church  and  one  Shepherd.' 
Whatever  you  do,  though,  you  will  not  forget 


88  Another  Tunnel 

that  to-night  you  are  witnessing  the  unheard- 
of  situation  of  a  Catholic  priest  being  pastor 
of  the  Catholic  and  the  Methodist  churches  at 
the  same  time,  as  is  evidenced  from  the  'power 
of  the  keys'  I  have  here  before  you."  And  he 
held  up  the  keys  of  the  church. 

The  old  Methodist  residents  of  the  town  still 
remember  that  night  and  that  speech. 

Everything  now  looked  bright.  A  house- 
mover  was  called  in,  measurements  were  taken, 
figures  given  on  the  moving  proposition. 
Suddenly  another  rock  rose  right  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream — an  impassable  rock. 
The  house-mover  met  him  at  the  church  one 
day  and  flattened  the  jubilant  pastor  by 
saying: 

"Sorry,  Father,  but  we  can't  move  this 
church." 

"In  the  name  of  God,  why  not?"  gasped 
Father  Dan. 

"The  measurements  show  that  the  streets  are 
entirely  too  narrow  for  it.  We  can't  begin  to 
think  of  moving  it." 

"Don't  talk  to  me,"  said  Father  Dan. 
"Leave  me,  or  I'll  say  something  terrible  about 
you  and  the  streets  of  Barnesville  and  the  peo- 
ple who  made  them." 

Father  Ryan  of  Chicago,  was  visiting  with 


Another  Tunnel  8d 

him  at  this  time  in  his  hilltop  house.  He  saw 
Father  Coffey  coming  up  the  hill  so  slowly 
that  he  guessed  something  had  happened. 

"It's  all  over,"  said  Father  Dan,  looking 
tragically  into  space,  and  he  told  the  worst. 

"I  had  a  white  church  on  my  hands,"  he  con- 
cluded, "but  I'll  swear  someone  has  turned  it 
into  a  white  elephant." 

After  a  melancholy  evening  together  they 
went  to  bed.  In  the  early  hours  of  the  morn- 
ing, Father  Ryan  was  awakened  by  a  series  of 
vigorous  thumpings  and  a  voice  calling, 

"Wake  up,  wake  up !" 

"What  for?  what  for?"  answered  Father 
Ryan,  grand  opera  fashion,  thinking  at  the 
same  moment  of  fire,  flood  and  volcanoes. 

"I've  got  an  idea,"  said  the  voice,  recognized 
now  as  Father  Dan's. 

"That's  worth  waking  up  for,"  said  Father 
Ryan.  "What  can  it  be?  " 

"I've  been  thinking,"  continued  Father  Dan. 
"I  haven't  the  authority  to  widen  those  streets, 
but  I'll  wager  we  can  narrow  that  church  by 
cutting  it  in  two  and  driving  it  tandem  down 
to  the  new  place.  It's  a  go!" 

It  was  a  "go."  The  house-mover  was  re- 
called. At  first  he  was  amazed  at  the  notion, 
but  soon  he  saw  that  it  was  entirely  practicable. 


90  Another  Tunnel 

The  church  was  cut  in  half  and  moved  easily 
along  the  narrow  streets  of  Barnes ville. 

Meantime  twenty  feet  were  added  to  the 
foundation.  The  two  pieces  were  hitched  to- 
gether again,  the  addition  built  and  in  a  very 
short  time  all  was  ready  for  the  dedication.  It 
is  a  beautiful  little  church  to-day. 

In  the  same  period,  the  congregation  built  a 
fine  rectory  and  the  prosperity  of  the  parish 
was  mounting  to  the  crest. 

Father  Coffey  was  very  happy  in  Barnes- 
ville  as  his  letters  show. 

ST.  MABY'S  OF  THE  ASSUMPTION 
BAENESVILLE,  OHIO, 

August  14,  1901. 
Dear  Ma: 

Your  letter  came  last  week  and  shortly  af- 
ter came  Father  Harvey.  I  was  delighted  to 
see  him  and  to  learn  you  were  all  well. 

We  are  rushing  things  along  for  the  church 
and  so  far  I  am  quite  pleased  with  the  work. 
The  people  of  the  town,  both  Protestant  and 
Catholic,  are  surprised  that  in  a  few  months 
so  much  has  been  done.  I  intend  to  have  it 
painted,  decorated  and  ready  before  the  fall. 
If  possible,  I  will  then  go  to  Brooklyn  and 
bring  you  out  here. 


Another  Tunnel  91 

Frank  was  greatly  surprised  at  the  beauty  of 
our  city  here;  and  he  could  not  get  over  my 
swell  house.  He  preached  a  beautiful  sermon 
for  me  Sunday  last. 

I  wish  I  had  you  here.  You  would  enjoy  it, 
I  am  sure.  The  fruit  is  ripening  and  the 
weather  becoming  cool.  Write  to  me  soon.  I 
will  let  you  know  later  about  the  beds  from 
Bergemot.  Love  to  all. 

DANIEL. 

The  next  letter  reflects  the  troubles  he  had 
with  his  "divided"  church. 

ST.  MARY'S  OF  THE  ASSUMPTION 
BAENESVILLE,  OHIO, 

September  5,  1901. 
Dear  Ma: 

Josie's  letter  of  some  days  ago  at  hand.  I 
am  quite  busy  here  and  shall  have  to  postpone 
my  little  trip  to  Atlantic  City  and  Cape  May 
until  I  see  my  way  out  of  these  difficulties. 

The  delays  in  the  work  have  put  back  the 
dedication  of  my  church  and  at  present  I  can- 
not tell  when  it  will  be  ready.     However,  as 
I  must  wait,  there  is  no  use  in  worrying. 
I  heard  from  Father  Hickey  the  other  day. 
Our  peach  crop  here  is  most  abundant.     My 


92  Another  Tunnel 

peaches  are  dropping  from  the  trees.  I  have 
more  than  I  can  use.  My  grapes  are  pretty 
nearly  ripe  and  I  intend  to  make  grape  wine 
next  week.  I  wish  you  were  here  to  enjoy  this 
lovely  autumn. 

I  will  soon  need  a  housekeeper,  as  the  one 
I  have  intends  to  leave.  Do  you  know  where 
I  could  get  a  good,  clean  person  for  the  fall? 
I  want  none  who  cough  over  the  stove  or  wash 
their  faces  in  the  dishpan.  The  person  must 
be  neat,  tidy  around  the  house,  be  at  home  all 
the  time  and  free  from  all  care.  No  bedbugs 
will  be  allowed  in  the  house.  The  salary  will 
be  first  class  for  a  first  class  person  but  no 
slovens  need  apply. 

Love  to  all. 

DANIEL. 

The  jubilant  note  returns  in  the  following 
letter  when  all  the  wrinkles  in  the  hitherto  try- 
ing situation  seem  to  be  ironed  out. 

ST.  MART'S  OF  THE  ASSUMPTION 
BARNESVILLE,,  OHIO. 
Dear  Josie: 

Your  letter  at  hand  and  I  admit  I  was  rather 
hasty;  but  I've  had  enough  to  bother  me  here 
without  annoyance  from  all  points  of  the  globe. 


Another  Tunnel  93 

Larry  and  his  wife  came  this  morning  to  my 
delight.  They  were  greatly  surprised  at  the 
beauty  of  my  home  and  could  not  believe  that  I 
was  only  a  year  here  to-day.  I  tell  you  my 
house  is  a  beauty. 

Last  night  we  had  a  lawn  fete  on  our  lawn 
and  I  had  all  the  "swell"  people  of  the  town  in 
attendance.  The  church  was  moved  without 
a  break  and  already  they  are  starting  to  put 
the  roof  on  it.  It  is  the  wonder  of  the  town 
that  we  could  move  it  and  have  everything  in 
shape  so  soon.  The  man  who  moved  the 
church  gave  me  the  price  of  a  magnificent 
statue  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 

Everything  is  going  lovely  and  soon  we  will 
have  a  church  such  as  our  congregation  de- 
serves. I  had  a  picture  "Before"  and  I'll  have 
one  taken  "After."  I'll  send  them  home. 

Already  I  am  to  have  four  marriages  and  as 
soon  as  the  church  is  finished  I  expect  more. 
This  is  a  great  town  for  marriages  and  I  am 
doing  all  I  can  to  encourage  the  good  work. 
Larry  and  his  wife  will  stay  here  over  Sunday. 
I  have  plenty  of  room. 

Where  I  live  would  remind  you  of  Bay 
Ridge,  with  rows  of  beautiful  summer  homes. 
The  housekeeper  I  now  have  reminds  me  very 
much  of  you.  Wherever  she  puts  anything  no 


94  Another  Tunnel 

one  else  can  find  it.  She  is  very  careful  of  the 
house,  though,  and  very  neat;  which  also  re- 
minds me  of  you,  I  must  say. 

Tell  ma  I  have  a  lovely  room  for  her  if  she 
will  come.    Love  to  all. 

DANIEL. 


The  little  congregation  blossomed  and 
bloomed,  growing  in  age  and  grace  and  wis- 
dom before  God  and  man.  Once  the  waters 
started  flowing  they  rippled  on  joyously,  and 
Father  Coffey  always  recalled  his  four  years 
there  with  something  like  merriment.  As 
later  in  Mingo,  he  was  known  to  the  whole 
town  and  country  around  and  every  memory 
they  have  of  him  to-day,  people  of  all  creeds,  is 
a  memory  of  admiration  and  affection,  with  the 
affection  predominant. 

It  was  in  Barnesville  in  1901,  that  the  emi- 
nent traveler  and  lecturer,  John  L.  Stoddard, 
first  met  Father  Coffey  and  their  friendship 
lasted  until  the  end.  The  following  sprightly 
poem,  an  invitation  in  verse  to  Father  Coffey 
to  visit  the  author  in  his  Tyrolean  villa,  was 
regarded  by  Father  Coffey  as  one  of  his  cher- 
ished souvenirs  and  it  was  found,  carefully 
saved,  after  his  death. 


Another  Turmel  95 

VILLA  POMONA,  MERAN,  TYROL 
Jan.  20,  1905. 
Dear  Friend  and  Father 
You  know  I'd  rather 
Talk  with  you  freely  and  face  to  face; 
But  no  resistance 
Can  vanquish  distance 
When  separated  by  so  much  space. 

So  I'm  inditing 

This  bit  of  writing 
To  send  this  morning  from  sweet  Meran 

Direct  to  Mingo 

(Queer  name,  by  Jingo!) 
And  may  it  find  you  a  happy  man ! 

Will's  crossed  the  ocean ! 

With  deep  emotion 
We  saw  him  leaving  the  halting  train; 

His  mammoth  shoulders, 

Like  mountain  boulders, 
Caused  many  natives  to  look  again. 

He  cried  out  "Sister," 

And  ran  and  kissed  her 
And  laughing  said,  as  he  squeezed  my  hand, 

"Thank  God,  I'm  hearing 

In  tones  endearing 
The  mother  tongue  of  my  native  land! 

To  saints  be  glory, 
I'm  hunky-dory! 
I've  safely  traversed  the  ocean  blue! 


96  Another  Tiwnel 

No  homesick  feeling 
Is  o'er  me  stealing, 
For  just  at  present  my  home's  with  you." 

And  so  by  working 

And  never  shirking, 
He's  learned  already  to  typewrite  well; 

His  face  is  ruddy 

Despite  his  study; 
How  much  he's  learning,  'tis  time  will  tell. 

Forgive  this  lingo, 

And  leave  old  Mingo, 
And  cross  the  ocean  to  fair  Tyrol! 

A  short  vacation 

For  recreation 
Will  re-create  you  in  mind  and  soul. 

We  three  will  meet  you, 

And  warmly  greet  you, 
And  show  you  mountains  of  dazzling  snow, 

And  lovely  flowers, 

And  Roman  towers, 
And  much  more  also,  before  you'd  go. 

And  if  you're  able, 

A  billiard  table 
You  could  be  using  from  morn  till  night, 

Or  else  be  reading 

The  books  you're  needing; 
I  have  two  thousand — a  welcome  sight ! 


Another  Tunnel  97 

So,  Friend  and  Father, 
Your  ducats  gather, 
And  buy  a  ticket  across  the  sea 
To  entertain  you 
And  never  pain  you 
This  friendly  trio  will  guarantee. 

Yours  cordially, 

JOHN  L.  STODDAED. 

Father  Coffey  had  been  in  Mingo  Junction 
two  months  when  this  letter  was  written,  being 
transferred  by  his  Bishop  to  St.  Agnes' 
Church  there  in  November,  1904. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  MILLS  OF  MEN 

IF  you  travel  by  rail  eastward  out  of  Deni- 
son,  Ohio,  you  will  observe  the  grade  stead- 
ily rising  toward  the  hills  along  the  Ohio  River. 
If  your  journey  is  by  night,  then  after  the  last 
upward  plunge  of  the  train,  you  sweep  around 
a  quick,  dipping  curve,  out  of  the  dark  rocky 
gaps  and  the  black  woods  on  either  hand,  into 
what  at  first  glance  looks  like  a  night  scene  in 
fairy  land. 

Thousands  of  lights,  like  fireflies,  pick  out 
the  inky  blackness.  Along  both  sides  of  the 
river,  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  the  scene  is  that 
of  a  vast  summer  garden,  hung  with  Japanese 
lanterns.  Here  and  there,  great  bursts  of 
luminous  smoke  and  vapor,  copper-colored  and 
pink  and  purplish  white,  rise  into  the  air  like 
huge  flowered  fireworks.  A  stranger  to  this 
locality  might  suppose  it  to  be  a  spacious  pleas- 
ure park  until  as  he  looked  he  would  see  a  huge 
serpent  of  fire  uncoil  from  some  hidden  nest 
and  fling  himself  venomously  up  into  the  night, 

98 


The  Mitts  of  Men  99 

stabbing  at  the  darkness  with  swift  tongues 
of  flame.  And  in  the  glare  that  lit  up  the 
scene  for  a  moment,  he  could  see  that  it  was 
very  far  from  being  a  garden  of  pleasure.  He 
has  been  looking  at  the  electric  lights  and  the 
furnace  fires  of  the  mills  and  factories  of 
Mingo. 

The  Ohio  Valley,  meaning  by  that  word  the 
northeastern  portion  of  Ohio,  is  probably  the 
busiest  spot  on  earth.  From  Pittsburgh  down 
to  Wheeling  on  both  sides  of  the  Ohio,  there 
is  one  crowding  succession  of  iron  foundries, 
glass  factories,  steel  mills,  coal  mines,  tin 
works,  potteries,  oil  wells.  Within  arm's 
reach  all  around  these  are  the  great  plants  for 
the  manufacture  of  automobile  tires  and  all 
manner  of  accessories.  This  entire  system 
goes  day  and  night,  without  intermission.  It 
is  labor  on  an  epic  scale.  A  bird's-eye  view  of 
the  district  would  make  Homer  look  about  for 
new  similes  to  visualize  multitudes  in  action; 
and  a  "close-up"  would  very  likely  give  Mil- 
ton some  further  ideas  for  the  early  books  of 
Paradise  Lost  and  even  send  Dante  back  to 
retouch  his  Inferno. 

Mingo  Junction  gives  us  as  good  a  cross  sec- 
tion of  the  Valley  as  any  we  could  have.  It  is 
not  as  large  a  town  as  many  others  in  the  dis- 


100  The  Mills  of  Men 

trict,  numbering  about  five  thousand  persons; 
but  it  is  decidedly  typical  of  the  whole  region. 
It  is  built  right  along  the  Ohio.  The  flat  land 
close  to  the  river's  bank  is  taken  up,  every  foot 
of  it,  by  mills  and  railroad  tracks,  with  just 
enough  room  for  a  narrow  and  winding  busi- 
ness street  to  squeeze  itself  in  against  the  hills. 
An  interurban  car,  connecting  Steubenville 
and  Brilliant,  some  four  miles  on  either  side, 
runs  down  this  Main  Street  of  Mingo,  lined 
with  grocery  and  clothing  stores,  meat  and 
vegetable  markets,  restaurants,  real  estate  of- 
fices, garages,  a  hotel,  a  postofHce,  a  bank. 

The  rest  of  the  town  scrambles  on  its  hands 
and  knees  to  the  top  of  the  steep  rise.  Houses 
dropped  in  on  every  little  level  spot,  after  such 
fashion  that  one  may  stand  on  one's  front  porch 
and  look  down  on  the  roof  of  one's  neighbor's 
house.  Streets  make  themselves  as  they  may, 
twisting  in  and  out  but  always  up.  Longfel- 
low should  have  seen  Mingo  before  he  wrote 
his  "Excelsior."  If  there  were  any  eagles 
about  they  would  be  jealous  of  the  Mingo  folk. 
"Going  u£"  is  the  town  slogan.  It  reminds 
me  of  the  Arkansas  farmer  who  fell  out  of  his 
cornfield  and  broke  his  neck.  If  a  Mingo  man 
fell  out  of  his  back  yard  a  searching  party 
would  have  to  go  after  him. 


The  Mills  of  Men  101 

When  we  have  said  this  much  against  Mingo 
(rather  in  its  favor,  as  indicating  the  gritty, 
mountaineer  spirit  of  its  citizens)  we  have  said 
everything  that  can  be  brought  against  it. 
For  its  people  recall  the  pleasantest  memories 
I  retain  after  many  years  of  travel. 

Twenty  years  ago  these  people  did  not  know 
one  another.  There  was  plenty  of  reason  for 
that.  They  belonged  to  more  than  twenty 
different  nationalities.  It  is  the  same  to-day. 
Recently  the  General  Manager  of  the  Mingo 
Steel  Works,  Mr.  George  Wisener,  gave  me 
this  official  classification  of  the  nationalities 
employed  in  his  mill:  Americans,  697;  English, 
20;  Irish,  14;  Scotch,  3;  Serbians,  57;  Bul- 
garians, 16;  Slovaks,  255;  Polish,  12;  Rus- 
sians, 8;  Croatians,  4;  Austrians,  19;  Hungar- 
ians, 18;  Italians,  218;  Spanish,  6;  Rouman- 
ian, 1;  Mexican,  1;  Germans,  10;  Swedes,  3; 
Negroes,  52;  Danish,  1;  Greeks,  3;  Macedon- 
ian, 1.  Total — 1419,  distributed  among 
twenty -two  nationalities.  It  is  fair  to  assume 
that  the  same  proportions  will  be  found 
throughout  the  district.  A  large  percentage 
of  these  is  Catholic. 

Differing  in  language,  customs,  traditions, 
often,  too,  with  the  inherited  national  antipa- 
thies; shy,  with  the  shyness  of  the  newcomer 


102  The  Mills  of  Men 

to  strange  surroundings ;  forced  to  the  limit  of 
their  power  to  toil  for  the  support  of  large 
families,  it  is  not  hard  to  see  that  they  had  at 
first  neither  the  inclination  nor  the  time  to  try 
to  understand  one  another.  It  was  this  prob- 
lem of  America's  melting  pot  that  Father  Cof- 
fey  faced  when  he  came  to  Mingo  in  Novem- 
ber, 1904. 

The  problem  came  before  him  in  an  acute 
form,  moreover.  In  the  larger  cities  these 
nationalities  spread  more.  They  form  groups, 
locate  in  distinct  sections,  have  priests  of  their 
own  separate  tongues  to  care  for  the  spiritual 
welfare  of  each  nationality.  In  Mingo  it  was 
not  thus.  Father  Coffey  was  the  single  pas- 
tor assigned  to  the  entire  field.  To  make 
every  one  of  these  people  feel  welcome  to  the 
Church,  to  the  country ;  to  bring  them  together 
understandingly ;  to  have  them  pray  together, 
work  together,  live  their  social  life  together; 
in  short,  to  make  a  happy  and  holy  family  out 
of  these  scattered  and  often  hostile  units — this 
was  the  life  work  that  Father  Dan  took  up  in 
Mingo.  He  had  to  assemble  these  disjoined 
pieces  into  the  spiritual  kaleidoscope  and  to 
weave  them  into  lasting  patterns  of  divine 
beauty.  How  well  he  succeeded  may  be 
judged  from  the  tribute  of  one  who  watched 


The  Mills  of  Men  103 

his  work,  who  said  after  Father  Coffey's 
death,  "The  parish  of  Mingo  during  Father 
Coffey's  incumbency  was  a  veritable  little  king- 
dom of  love." 

He  knew  none  of  the  languages  native  to 
these  foreigners,  and  beyond  the  dash  of  a 
phrase  picked  up  from  one  or  another,  he  never 
learned  any  of  their  tongues.  Indeed,  he  did 
not  have  the  time  for  it.  When  Father  Coffey 
arrived  in  Mingo,  he  found  the  financial,  the 
social  and  the  religious  problems  so  compli- 
cated and  so  pressing  that  anything  like  the 
leisure  for  language  learning  was  out  of  the 
question.  To  most  men  this  would  have  been 
a  discouraging  handicap,  but  it  never  even 
bothered  Father  Coffey. 

"How  did  you  get  to  handle  these  people  in 
the  beginning  without  knowing  how  to  talk  to 
them?"  I  asked  him  on  one  occasion. 

"I  went  around  and  made  nice  faces  at 
them,"  he  answered.  "When  they  saw  I  liked 
them,  they  wanted  to  talk  to  me,  and  they  had 
to  learn  English  to  do  it.  Now  we  splash 
along  in  fine  style.  Of  course,  from  the  very 
start  I  always  had  priests  to  come  to  St.  Agnes' 
and  hear  the  confessions  of  all  who  could  not 
go  in  English." 

That  was  the  cue  to  all  Father  Coffey's  sue- 


104,  The  Mills  of  Men 

cess  with  his  people — he  "liked"  them.  More 
than  that,  he  loved  them  and  they  knew  it.  As 
Father  Thomas  Powers  finely  says  in  his  mem- 
orial booklet : 

"When  there  is  question  of  duty  and  human- 
ity the  priest,  like  the  sunbeam,  is  a  native  of 
every  sky;  and  so,  Father  Coffey  was  to  the 
foreigner,  of  whom  there  were  many  in  his 
congregation,  a  father  and  a  friend.  He  did 
not  learn  their  language,  it  is  true,  but  he 
came  closer  to  their  hearts  by  studying  their 
needs  and  speaking  to  them  in  the  universal 
language  of  kindly  helpfulness." 

Of  course  the  American  portion  of  St. 
Agnes'  parish  was  hand  in  hand  with  Father 
Coffey  from  the  start ;  but  he  was  not  satisfied 
with  this.  He  must  have  the  whole  congre- 
gation, down  to  the  last  man,  woman  and  child 
clasping  hands  all  around.  He  followed  the 
practical  idea  of  proving  to  these  people  that 
he  wanted  them  by  efficiently  helping  them  in 
their  work. 

A  fortunate  incident  occurred  at  this  time 
which  opened  the  way  to  him.  One  day  there 
was  handed  in  to  Mr.  Wisener,  in  his  office  in 
the  mills,  a  letter,  complaining  of  a  shortage 
in  pay.  It  was  brought  by  an  Italian,  who 
could  not  explain  himself  well  in  English. 


The  Mills  of  Men  105 

The  letter  was  so  well  written,  both  as  to  com- 
position and  penmanship,  that  it  attracted  the 
attention  of  Mr.  Wisener. 

"Who  wrote  this  letter?"  he  inquired. 

"The  little  daughter  in  the  boarding  house 
where  I  stay,"  was  the  answer. 

"I  can  hardly  believe  it,"  said  Mr.  Wisener. 
After  settling  the  complaint  satisfactorily,  he 
said,  "Have  that  little  girl  sent  to  the  office." 

In  a  short  time  Mary,  twelve  years  of  age, 
appeared  and  was  shown  into  the  office. 

"Did  you  write  this,  Mary?"  asked  the  man- 
ager, showing  her  the  letter. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mary. 

"Let  me  see  how  you  do  it,"  said  the  manager 
and  he  gave  her  a  pen  and  some  paper.  "Copy 
this  for  me,  please." 

Mary  took  the  pen  and  made  a  beautiful 
copy  of  the  lines  Mr.  Wisener  had  placed  be- 
fore her. 

"What  school  do  you  go  to,  Mary?"  asked 
he. 

"I  go  to  St.  Agnes'  School,  sir,"  replied 
Mary. 

"Do  the  Sisters  teach  you  this?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mary.^  "They  teach  me 
everything." 

"You  are  going  to  a  good  school,  Mary," 


106  The  Mills  of  Men 

said  Mr.  Wisener,  and  he  dismissed  her  with 
a  present  of  a  half  dollar. 

This  incident  reached  Father  Coffey.  With 
the  sure  instinct  that  was  his,  he  saw  at  once 
that  he  had  a  future  friend  in  the  head  of  the 
steel  works,  a  man  who  saw  beyond  the  mill 
exits  and  realized  that  there  was  more  in  any 
man  than  mere  labor,  and  that  labor  problems 
will  never  be  settled  by  way  of  the  pocket  but 
by  way  of  the  heart.  Father  Dan  was  not 
strong  for  "future"  friends,  however.  He  in- 
sisted on  having  them  in  the  present  tense  and 
keeping  them  there.  He  called  on  Mr.  Wise- 
ner and  invited  him  to  visit  the  school,  naming 
a  date  when  there  was  to  be  a  distribution  of 
prizes  and  a  little  entertainment. 

"I  won't  ask  you  to  make  a  speech,  Mr. 
Wisener,"  said  Father  Coffey,  "but  if  you 
would  like  to  donate  any  prizes  to  the  children, 
I  shall  see  that  they  are  given  out  with  my  own 
hands." 

Both  invitations  were  accepted.  Mr.  Wise- 
ner sent  to  the  rectory  a  check  for  twenty-five 
dollars  to  be  turned  into  twenty-five  prizes  for 
the  children  "who  had  done  the  best  work." 
On  the  day  appointed  he  was  there  among  the 
guests  of  the  school.  A  pretty  entertainment 
was  given  and  the  distribution  of  the  prizes  be- 


The  Mills  of  Men  107 

gan.  As  it  proceeded,  Mr.  Wisener  noted  that 
they  went  beyond  twenty-five  and  up  to  thirty- 
five.  At  the  intermission  he  called  Father 
Coffey  and  said: 

"There  were  more  than  twenty -five  prizes, 
weren't  there?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Wisener,"  said  Father  Coffey, 
entirely  unabashed,  "but  there  is  so  much  'best' 
work  in  St.  Agnes'  School  that  I  had  to  put  in 
ten  dollars  of  my  own  for  extra  prizes." 

"Oh,  no,  that  won't  do  at  all,"  said  Mr. 
Wisener,  "this  is  my  day  at  the  school  and  it's 
all  the  prizes  or  none." 

"Well,  since  you  insist,"  said  Father  Coffey, 
with  mock  reluctance,  "I  shall  withdraw  my 
ten — with  regret."  And  he  took  a  check  for 
another  ten  dollars.  Mr.  Wisener  was  lured 
into  a  speech  besides. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  an  entente 
cordiale  between  the  head  of  St.  Agnes'  parish 
and  the  head  of  the  steel  works,  which  lasts  to 
the  present  hour.  The  results  of  genuine  co- 
operation are  evident.  Socialism  never  got 
the  least  foothold  in  Mingo.  The  propagand- 
ists made  headway  in  other  districts  near  by; 
they  tried  Mingo  time  and  again  but  they 
flitted  out  as  fast  as  they  flitted  in.  Father 
Coffey  watched  his  people  with  affectionate 


108  The  Mills  of  Men 

care,  instructed  them  in  groups,  knew  person- 
ally every  individual  in  his  parish  and  thus  an- 
ticipated every  danger  that  threatened  them. 
He  was  at  the  fountain  head  of  every  move- 
ment in  the  parish.  During  the  eleven  years 
of  his  pastorate  there  was  not  a  single  strike, 
and  there  has  been  none  since. 

One  of  the  methods  used  by  the  Socialists  to 
breed  discontent  was  an  attempted  spread  of 
the  Menace  through  the  works.  The  sheet 
was  mailed  to  the  men  in  their  homes,  put  into 
the  pockets  of  their  working  coats,  left  about 
in  corners  where  they  could  be  picked  up — 
all  this  secretly  and  unknown  to  the  authori- 
ties at  the  mill.  Father  Coffey  found  it  out 
and  immediately  went  to  them  with  a  com- 
plaint. His  people  were  being  attacked  for 
their  religion  and  the  edge  of  discontent  was 
splitting  the  men  apart. 

An  order  was  at  once  given  to  have  this 
propaganda  stopped  and  the  announcement 
was  made  that  the  first  person  discovered  dis- 
tributing the  Menace  would  be  discharged  per- 
manently. The  trouble  ended  in  the  mill. 

But  Father  Coffey  did  not  stop  there.  It 
was  known  that  the  mailing  of  the  Menace 
had  been  done  in  a  nearby  town.  He  set  him- 
self to  discover  who  was  responsible  for  this. 


The  Mills  of  Men  109 

One  day  he  was  hurrying  to  catch  a  car  from 
this  town  for  home.  His  arms  were  filled  with 
bundles — he  seldom  returned  home  without 
bundles,  picked  up,  as  we  shall  see,  every- 
where— as  he  was  met  by  a  friend  who  stopped 
him  and  said: 

"Father  Coffey,  I  have  found  out  the  man 
who  has  been  mailing  that  Menace." 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Father  Dan. 

The  surprising  answer  came  with  the  name 
of  a  man  whom  Father  Coffey  had  done  busi- 
ness with  for  years,  who  had  often  expressed 
a  warm  admiration  for  him. 

"Is  that  so?"  said  he.  He  walked  into  a 
store  before  him,  put  down  the  bundles  on  the 
counter,  said,  "Please  watch  these  for  me,"  and 
walked  rapidly  down  the  street  to  the  business 
place  of  the  man  whose  name  had  been  given 
him. 

"Is  Mr.  Blank  here?"  he  asked,  so  as  to  be 
heard  plainly  in  the  store. 

Mr.  Blank  was  in  his  office.  He  came  out 
and  seeing  Father  Coffey,  came  forward  ef- 
fusively, holding  out  his  hand. 

"Father  Coffey!  "  he  said.  "I  am  delighted 
to  see  you.  How  are  you?" 

"Quite  well,"  said  Father  Coffey.  "But  I 
won't  shake  hands  with  you  now.  I  have  just 


110  The  Mills  of  Men 

been  told,  Mr.  Blank,  that  you  are  the  chief 
distributor  of  the  Menace  in  this  town  and  in 
our  town  of  Mingo.  I  don't  like  to  think  this 
of  you.  But  let  me  tell  you  something.  I'm 
trying  to  raise  funds  to  build  a  little  Catholic 
church  for  my  poor  people  and  'A.  P.  A.' 
money  looks  just  as  good  to  me  as  any  other 
kind.  That's  all  I  have  to  say  to  you  at  pres- 
ent." Turning  on  his  heel  he  walked  rapidly 
out  of  the  store. 

Two  days  later  he  received  a  substantial 
check  from  Mr.  Blank  to  be  applied  to  the 
church. 

"We'll  call  this  the  slush  fund,"  he  said, 
"but  we'll  make  even  the  devil  help  to  build 
the  Catholic  church." 

Times  there  were,  too,  when  the  men  them- 
selves were  to  blame  for  their  troubles. 
Nearly  always  the  cause  was  drink.  Father 
Coffey  was  not  opposed  to  the  workingman 
having  his  glass  of  beer;  but  he  came  down 
heavily  on  the  whiskey  drinker  and  the  sot.  If 
he  discovered  a  man  intoxicated  he  would  rid- 
dle him  with  so  fierce  a  fire  of  sarcastic  scorn 
that  he  often  stung  him  sober. 

"Lo,  Father  Coffey!"  mumbled  a  maudlin 
fellow  to  him  one  day  in  the  street,  "gladda  see 
yaP 


The  Mills  of  Men  111 

"Don't  grunt  at  me,"  said  Father  Coffey, 
stepping  back  from  him.  "I'm  no  hog.  Get 
back  to  the  trough  you  just  left  and  nose  in 
there  with  the  other  hogs.  They'll  be  glad  to 
see  you."  He  left  the  man  standing  there  be- 
wildered, already  half  sobered  by  the  shots  that 
went  through  him. 

In  his  sermons,  he  withered  the  "saloon 
hounds,"  as  he  termed  the  drunkards,  in 
phraseology  that  reduced  them  to  a  cinder. 
"Big  kangaroos,  with  nothing  but  a  long  neck 
with  a  pin  head  on  top  of  it,  leaping  from  their 
hind  legs  for  the  bar  and  kicking  their  families 
in  the  face!" 

He  knew,  however,  that  words  alone  would 
never  stop  them  effectively.  He  must  cut  in 
at  the  source.  He  wasted  no  time  in  trying 
to  influence  the  type  of  saloon  keeper  who 
poured  the  drink  into  his  men.  These  he  re- 
garded as  past  human  feeling.  He  went  to  the 
general  manager  of  the  mills. 

At  a  conference,  it  was  agreed  between  them 
that  any  man  of  his  parish  who  neglected  his 
work  through  drink  would  be  laid  off  indefi- 
nitely and  could  not  return  to  work  there  until 
he  had  seen  Father  Coffey  and  brought  a 
signed  pledge  to  abstain  from  drink.  The 
plan  worked  perfectly.  Gradually  the  drink 


112  The  Mills  of  Men 

evil  declined  and  finally  disappeared  alto- 
gether. The  men  learned  to  control  them- 
selves without  any  prohibition  law. 

It  was  not  pleasant  for  them  to  have  to  face 
Father  Coffey  on  second  infractions  of  the 
pledge,  and  sometimes  they  attempted  strategy 
to  avoid  him.  One  day  after  a  second  drink- 
ing spree,  a  man  came  into  the  mill  and  asked 
for  his  job  again.  The  manager  looked  him 
over,  talked  to  him  a  little  and  finally  asked: 

"Where  is  your  pledge?" 

"Here  it  is,"  said  the  man,  and  passed  a 
signed  document  across  the  desk.  The  mana- 
ger looked  at  it. 

"That  won't  go  here,"  said  he.  "No  pledges 
but  those  signed  by  Father  Coffey  will  be 
taken  in  this  mill." 

The  man  left,  returned  after  an  hour  and 
was  reinstated.  He  never  needed  another 
pledge.  "That  tongue  lashing  I  got  from 
Father  Coffey,"  he  said,  "will  do  me  for  the 
rest  of  my  life." 


CHAPTER  X 
SPREADING  SAIL 

WE  have  dwelt  upon  Father  Coffey's  rela- 
tions with  the  heads  of  the  mills  in 
Mingo,  because  a  large  percentage  of  his  par- 
ish worked  there,  and  it  was  to  the  interest  of 
every  one  to  establish  cordial  and  lasting  busi- 
ness relations  from  the  start. 

The  mill,  however,  by  no  means  measured 
the  circumference  of  his  circle  of  influence.  In 
a  very  short  time,  Father  Coffey  was  inti- 
mately known  by  all  the  business  men  of  Mingo 
and  of  Steubenville  as  well.  His  idea  was 
that  every  one  should  know  exactly  what  a 
Catholic  priest  was  like,  and  just  what  the 
Catholic  Church  stood  for  in  her  work;  so  he 
went  up  close  to  every  one  and  in  a  moment 
each  one  saw  he  was  coming  as  a  friend. 

"I'm  a  salesman  for  the  Catholic  Church," 
he  used  to  say,  "and  I  have  to  be  out  on  the 
road." 

And  in  the  language  of  the  salesmen,  he  was 
master  of  the  perfect  "approach."  It  took  no 

113 


114  Spreading  Sail 

formal  introduction  to  put  him  in  touch  with 
any  one.  In  the  easiest,  most  natural  manner 
possible  he  would  move  down  the  street,  miss- 
ing not  a  person  as  he  went,  from  the  smallest 
child  to  the  distinguished  citizen,  with  a  smile 
of  recognition,  or  a  friendly  nod,  or  a  wave  of 
the  hand;  or,  if  words  were  spoken,  with  just 
the  word  that  fitted. 

He  would  drop  into  a  store  and  in  a  minute 
would  have  the  manager  engaged  in  delighted 
conversation,  not  forgetting  a  happy  remark 
to  the  assistants  and  a  sparkle  of  wit  for  the 
customers.  Even  on  his  first  visit  to  a  place, 
an  observer  would  suppose  from  his  manner 
that  he  had  known  the  people  all  his  life.  Not 
a  hint  of  the  spectacular  about  all  this,  not 
the  suggestion  of  patronizing  or  posing.  On 
the  other  hand,  not  the  shadow  of  cringing — 
none  of  the  crude  and  frothy  effusiveness  of  the 
professional  friend-maker.  Everything  was 
as  simple  and  as  spontaneous  as  the  song  of  a 
bird,  and  as  enjoyable.  It  was  the  perfection 
of  the  "Cor  ad  cor  loquitur"  the  acme  of  affa- 
bility. "I  never  saw  a  man  like  him,"  was  the 
serious  judgment  of  an  official  who  had  met 
men  in  every  walk  of  life. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  he  had  the  entree 
everywhere.  In  a  very  short  while  he  grew  to 


Spreading  Sail  115 

be  the  most  trusted  man  in  Mingo.  On  a  re- 
cent visit  to  the  town,  I  met  many  of  its  busi- 
ness men  of  varying  creeds  and  characters. 
We  talked  of  Father  Coffey  and  though  he  had 
been  dead  four  years,  he  was  still  so  close  to 
them,  so  vividly  remembered,  that  it  seemed 
as  if  he  were  still  in  their  midst  and  might  be 
expected  to  drop  in  on  our  conversation  at  any 
moment. 

While  he  lived,  there  was  not  a  civic  move- 
ment in  the  town  with  which  he  was  not  identi- 
fied. The  citizens  depended  upon  having  his 
advice  and  help.  At  the  same  time  he  never 
forgot  that  the  most  beneficial  movement  in 
Mingo  was  the  work  of  the  Catholic  Church. 
As  he  gave  the  best  he  had  to  the  town,  he  ex- 
pected the  men  of  the  town  to  give  his  church 
more  than  mere  sympathy. 

As  soon  as  he  came  to  Mingo,  he  saw  that  he 
must  get  ready  to  build.  He  had  a  little 
church,  a  school,  a  house,  all  built  of  wood 
and  already  drooping  with  age.  The  Sisters' 
house,  too,  was  not  what  he  would  like  them  to 
have;  and  his  congregation,  though  willing, 
was  poor.  They  were  beginning  their  own 
homes  and  could  not  carry  a  building  proposi- 
tion of  that  size. 

Accordingly,   after  he  was  settled  in  the 


116  Spreading  Sail 

town,  he  began  to  collect  funds  for  the  church. 
His  parish  responded  generously,  but  he  did 
not  limit  himself  to  the  Catholics  alone.  Non- 
Catholics  should  contribute  also,  to  his  way  of 
thinking. 

"Aren't  they  getting  the  benefit  of  the  power 
of  the  Catholic  Church  among  them?"  he  said. 
"Why,  we're  helping  them  and  they  ought  to 
pay  for  it." 

One  of  his  familiar  friends  was  Mr.  D.  J. 
Sinclair,  since  dead,  then  a  prominent  banker 
and  mill  owner  in  Steubenville.  Father  Cof- 
f  ey  walked  into  his  bank  one  morning. 

"Good  morning,  Father,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Sinclair.  I've  come  to 
take  some  money  out  of  your  bank ;  and  it  isn't 
going  to  be  from  my  deposit,  but  from  yours." 

"How  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Sinclair.  ' 

"Well,"  continued  Father  Coffey,  with  fin- 
ished repose  of  manner,  "everybody  knows  that 
you  are  interested  in  furthering  every  move- 
ment for  the  good  of  Steubenville  and  its 
environs.  Now  .1  am  pushing  ahead  the  big- 
gest and  absolutely  the  best  movement  ever 
started  in  this  region  and  you  simply  have  to 
be  in  on  it." 

"What  is  the  movement?"  inquired  Mr.  Sin- 


Spreading  Sail  117 

clair,  much  surprised  that  he  hadn't  heard  of  it 
before. 

"It's  the  Catholic  Church,  which  I  represent 
in  Mingo  and  which  is  working  hard  day  and 
night  to  make  the  men  of  this  section  better 
men,  better  workers  and  better  citizens.  I 
need  money  for  a  new  school  and  church  to 
keep  this  movement  vital ;  and  you're  not  going 
to  stand  one  side  and  see  me  want  it." 

Mr.  Sinclair  wrote  a  check  for  five  hundred 
dollars  and  gave  it  to  Father  Coffey. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  he,  as  he  care- 
fully put  it  away.  "But  remember,  D.  J.,  this 
is  only  the  beginning.  You'll  be  dying  to 
give  me  more  after  a  while  and  I'll  be  back  to 
get  it." 

Some  time  after,  the  evangelist,  Billy  Sun- 
day, came  to  Steubenville  and  held  a  revival. 
When  the  subscriptions  were  published,  Father 
Coffey  noted  that  Mr.  Sinclair  had  given  five 
hundred  dollars.  The  next  day  the  latter  hap- 
pened to  look  out  of  his  office  window  and 
saw  Father  Coffey  standing  in  front  of  the 
bank  in  a  most  dejected  attitude,  with  a  coun- 
tenance the  picture  of  woe,  looking  in  at  the 
window  at  intervals,  but  not  making  any  at- 
tempt to  enter.  Mr.  Sinclair  was  mystified. 


118  Spreading  Sail 

He  went  out  to  Father  Coffey  and  invited  him 
in.  He  did  so  and  seated  himself  funereally. 

"What  has  happened,  Father?  Has  any- 
body died?" 

"Yes,"  said  Father  Coffey.  "My  hopes  are 
dead.  Here  is  this  Billy  Sunday  coming  to 
town  and  preaching  out  of  a  false  bible  six 
weeks.  He  gets  five  hundred  dollars  for  it 
from  one  of  my  best  friends.  I  work  around 
here  for  six  years,  teaching  out  of  the  true 
Bible  and  nobody  offers  me  a  cent." 

He  got  another  check  the  equal  of  Billy 
Sunday's. 

"Now,  I  feel  revived,"  he  said  as  he  folded 
the  check.  "If  you  keep  on  this  way,  D.  J., 
do  you  know  what  I  may  do?  I  may  have  a 
stained  glass  medallion  made  with  your  picture 
in  it  and  put  it  up  over  the  door  of  my 
church;  and  I'm  thinking  that's  as  close  to 
heaven  as  a  lot  of  you  Presbyterians  will 
ever  get." 

The  inevitable  bazaar  and  festival  was  part 
of  the  machinery  he  employed.  His  congrega- 
tion responded  generously — mill  workers  are 
proverbially  generous — but  Father  refused  to 
allow  them  to  do  it  all.  He  went  personally 
to  his  "money  friends"  and  invited  them  to 
be  present. 


Spreading  Sail  119 

"And  be  sure  to  come  well  heeled,"  he  told 
them.  "We'll  get  all  the  heels  and  you'll  be 
lucky  to  get  off  with  your  soul." 

"We  came  to  be  fleeced,"  said  one  of  Father 
Coffey's  old  friends.  "And  you  can  believe 
we  were  fleeced  artistically.  If  I  hid  a  dime  in 
my  shoe,  I  think  he  would  have  got  it;  but  we 
never  had  so  much  fun  for  the  money." 

As  they  were  leaving,  Father  Coffey  would 
anxiously  inquire  if  they  had  car  fare.  "I'll 
lend  you  a  nickel,"  he  would  say  with  an  air 
of  generosity. 

He  had  his  own  way,  too,  of  keeping  down 
repair  bills.  If  a  pump  were  broken,  or  a  fur- 
nace out  of  order,  he  sent  a  note  to  the  mill, 
asking  Mr.  Wisener  to  have  a  man  "drop  in 
to  look  at  it."  The  man  came  over  and  fixed 
it. 

"How  much  will  that  be?"  he  asked  the  man. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer. 

"Then  tell  Mr.  Wisener  to  send  the  bill," 
said  Father  Coffey.  Of  course,  the  bill  never 
came. 

One  day  during  the  dinner  hour  at  the  mill, 
a  dynamite  explosion  occurred  that  shook  up 
the  neighborhood  somewhat.  Before  two 
o'clock  the  mill  office  received  a  bill  from 
Father  Coffey  for  broken  glass  and  plaster 


120  Spreading  Sail 

in  the  school.  "I  always  aim  to  be  business- 
like in  these  little  matters,"  he  added. 

The  bundles  he  came  home  with  from  his 
walks  were  very  often  presents  he  received 
from  the  merchants  of  Mingo  and  Steuben- 
ville.  He  had  his  unique  way  of  getting  them. 
He  "took  them"  he  used  to  say.  His  usual 
way,  when  he  needed  anything,  was  to  wander 
into  a  store,  looking  sadly  out  of  pocket  (as 
indeed  he  was)  and  to  gaze  longingly  at  the 
object  he  was  after. 

"Anything  you  would  like,  Father?" 

"Yes,"  he  would  reply.  "That!"  pointing 
at  the  article  with  a  meaning  that  it  never 
could  be  his. 

"Take  it,"  was  the  invariable  reply.  "It's 
yours." 

"Well,  if  you  insist,"  Father  Coffey  would 
say  deprecatingly,  "then  wrap  it  up  for  me." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  any  of  the  stores  would 
give  him  anything  they  thought  he  needed  even 
before  he  expressed  a  wish  for  it.  They  so 
much  enjoyed  his  "approach,"  however,  that 
they  liked  to  wait  until  he  made  it;  and  he 
never  made  it  twice  in  the  same  way. 

Mr.  Sulzbacher,  a  general  merchant  in  Steu- 
benville,  told  Father  Coffey  one  Christmas 
time  to  select  anything  in  the  store  he  wished 


Spreading  Sail  121 

for  a  Christmas  gift.  Nothing  loathe,  Father- 
Coffey  fastened  his  eyes  on  a  cut  glass  water 
set,  which  in  due  time  was  on  display  in  his. 
"den"  at  Mingo.  Some  days  later  he  was, 
making  his  rounds  of  the  same  store  when  he, 
noticed  a  combination  cane  and  umbrella.  He 
brought  it  to  Mr.  Sulzbacher. 

"Sulz,"  he  said,  "this  is  what  you  should; 
have  given  me  for  Christmas.  I'll  take  it  for 
New  Year's." 

"Take  it,"  said  Mr.  Sulzbacher.  "And  a 
Happy  New  Year  with  it." 

The  telephone  was  an  ally  of  his  in  the  same 
cause  and  his  use  of  it  was  most  artistic.  On 
the  eve  of  a  great  Feast  Day,  the  Sister  in* 
charge  of  the  altar  decoration  sent  up  word  to, 
Father  Coffey  that  more  flowers  would  be- 
needed  to  have  things  at  their  best,  and  that 
roses  would  be  preferred.  Father  Coffey  told 
the  messenger  to  say  to  Sister  that  the  roses, 
would  be  there  in  a  few  minutes. 

He  turned  to  the  'phone  and  called  a  num- 
ber. 

"Hello,  that  you,  Bert?  Father  Coffey 
speaking — I  wish  to  thank  you  for  those  beau- 
tiful roses  you  sent  me.  Such  gorgeous  color- 
and  so  large! — What,  didn't  you  see  them?' 
Why  I  can  smell  them  from*  l*er£,  a,  dozen  of' 


122  Spreading  Sail 

them,  American  Beauties — they're  on  the  way, 
you  say?  Thank  you,  Bert,  you're  a  lovely 
man.  Good-by." 

He  had  been  talking  with  the  florist.  The 
flowers  were  at  the  house  immediately. 

His  library  had  the  best  and  the  latest  books 
sent  him  by  the  bookstores.  Nothing,  thought 
these  people,  was  too  good  for  Father  Coffey. 

To  hear  him  talk  about  "money,"  a  stranger 
would  imagine  that  his  soul  was  set  upon  gold. 
Those  who  knew  him  understood  well  that 
every  move  he  made  was  directed  to  his  church 
and  to  his  poor.  He  was  most  exact  in  his 
official  accounts  and  would  exercise  his  genius 
to  help  the  church.  In  his  personal  accounts, 
he  was  the  very  opposite.  He  kept  no  record 
of  what  was  due  himself.  It  was  too  much 
bother,  he  said,  to  worry  over  such  things. 

He  had  enough  money  collected  to  begin  his 
building  when  the  war  broke  out.  He  died  be- 
fore the  war  was  over,  but  he  left  to  his  suc- 
cessor a  nucleus  which  will  soon  develop  into 
the  realization  of  his  dream.  As  to  his  own 
fortune,  his  death  disclosed  that  the  only 
earthly  possessions  which  were  his  to  be- 
queath, were  his  books  and  thirty-six  dollars 
in  money. 


CHAPTER  XI 
HE  HAD  COMPASSION 

fin  HE  grace  of  giving,  which  we  noted  in 
JL  Father  Coffey's  boyhood,  grew  with  his 
growth.  The  words  of  scripture,  "He  had 
compassion  on  the  multitude,"  had  a  special 
attraction  for  him.  If  we  followed  those  bun- 
dles he  used  to  bring  home  from  the  stores  we 
should  find  nearly  all  of  them  ultimately  in 
the  hands  of  the  poor.  He  was  not  content 
to  work  singly  in  this  field.  He  saw  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  cover  the  ground  alone. 
He  thought  ot  things  always  on  a  large  scale 
and  in  the  matter  of  helping  the  poor,  his  idea 
was  to  reach  them  all,  regardless  of  race  or 
belief. 

One  of  his  earliest  perceptions  was  the  need 
of  a  hospital  for  the  workers  of  the  vicinity. 
Dr.  Strayer,  the  surgeon  of  the  steel  plant,  had 
the  same  idea  and  he  came  to  his  friend,  Father 
Coffey,  to  confer  with  him,  confident  of  a 
sympathetic  hearing,  and  knowing  that  once 
he  had  enlisted  Father  Coffey  in  the  work,  a 

123 


124  He  Had  Compassion 

sure  and  rapid  way  of  solving  the  difficulty 
would  be  found.  The  first  discussion  of  the 
matter  took  place  on  the  steps  of  St.  Agnes* 
Church.  Father  Coffey  was  enthusiastic. 
They  worked  out  a  plan  together.  Ready  to 
answer  detailed  questions,  they  approached 
Mr.  Wisener.  He  saw  the  necessity  and  prac- 
ticability of  the  plan  and  promised  his  efficient 
cooperation.  Father  Powers,  the  pastor  of 
St.  Peter's  Church  in  Steubenville,  and  other 
business  men  of  that  town  were  likewise  in- 
terested. A  committee  was  formed  to  organ- 
ize the  people  of  both  Mingo  and  Steubenville 
to  assist  in  securing  funds.  They  responded 
quickly  and  under  the  capable  direction  of  Mr. 
Wisener,  the  work  was  pushed  forward.  The 
original  idea  contemplated  a  hospital  for  the 
Mingo  mills.  Father  Coffey  suggested  a 
larger  building  to  be  located  in  Steubenville, 
to  care  for  the  people  of  both  cities.  This  was 
adopted.  To-day  the  handsome  Ohio  Valley 
Hospital  in  Steubenville  stands  as  a  witness 
to  Father  Coffey's  love  for  the  suffering. 

In  past  years,  before  the  Ohio  River  was 
dammed,  annual  floods  threatened  the  dwellers 
along  the  banks.  Many  times  it  was  more 
than  a  threat.  In  1913  a  sudden  and  disas- 
trous flood  rushed  in  over  the  river  bottoms 


He  Had  Compassion  125 

at  Mingo  and  swept  everything  before  it. 
Houses  with  all  their  contents,  furniture, 
stoves,  bedding,  were  whirled  away  within  an 
hour  and  spun  down  the  river,  the  people 
barely  escaping  with  their  lives.  A  hundred 
families  were  left  huddled  along  the  hills,  en- 
tirely destitute  of  clothing  and  food. 

The  town  of  Mingo  at  once  came  to  their 
rescue.  A  relief  committee  was  formed,  with 
Father  Coffey  one  of  its  members,  and  dona- 
tions of  money  and  of  household  goods  for 
immediate  use  were  called  for.  Help  came 
from  all  sides.  Bread,  meat,  groceries,  fuel, 
stoves,  kitchen  ware,  clothes,  furniture,  beds, 
all  the  essentials  of  home,  to  say  nothing  of 
a  large  sum  of  money,  were  contributed  in  a 
day  by  the  people  and  the  merchants.  The 
different  articles  were  sorted  and  each  lot  as- 
sembled, under  supervision,  in  accessible  parts 
of  the  town  where  the  destitute  could  readily 
get  them. 

On  the  same  day  the  committee  held  a  final 
meeting  to  decide  how  they  should  identify 
those  deserving  help,  thus  to  prevent  fraud  in 
the  distribution.  As  soon  as  the  purpose  of 
the  meeting  had  been  announced,  a  lady  rose 
and  addressed  the  house. 

She  was  pleased,  she  said,  to  meet  such  an 


126  He  Had  Compassion 

efficient  group  of  men.  She  had  traveled 
much  and  had  not  been  long  in  Mingo ;  but  she 
must  confess  that  in  all  her  experience  she  had 
not  witnessed  anywhere  more  marvelous  work 
for  the  uplift  of  humanity  than  the  men  of 
Mingo  had  accomplished  in  so  short  a  time. 

"But,"  she  continued,  assuming  the  role  of 
patron  and  prophetess,  "our  real  work  is  ahead 
of  us,  namely  in  the  distribution  of  the  goods. 
Statistics  prove  that  the  great  leakage  in  all 
charitable  movements,  the  one  rift  in  the  lute, 
comes  from  slovenly  methods  in  apportioning 
the  intake.  Really  to  identify  the  deserving 
is  to-day  a  problem  worthy  of  the  most  dis- 
cerning intelligence." 

The  men  sat  stupefied.  For  most  of  them 
it  was  the  first  time  they  had  encountered  an 
uplifter  and  her  patois  was  totally  unintelligi- 
ble to  them.  They  looked  at  her  with  their 
fingers  in  their  mouths,  metaphorically  speak- 
ing. 

"Gentlemen,"  continued  the  prophetess,  "I 
hold  in  my  hand  a  paper  containing  the  results 
of  a  scrutinizing  research  made  through  the 
town  to-day,  and  I  shall  direct  your  attention 
to  the  following  particulars  which  will  control 
us  in  meting  out  our  aid  to  the  genuinely 
worthy.  I  shall  read  it  to  you : 


He  Had  Compassion  127 

"Thomas  Williams — earns  $20  a  week. 
Spends  part  of  that  for  drink.  He 
should  receive  no  help. 

"Samuel  Brown — while  not  able  to  work,  has 
two  boys  who  bring  in  $25  weekly. 

"David  Whipple — owns  a  market  garden  and 
a  small  farm. 

"Arthur  Landers — catches  fish  in  the  river  and 
sells  them.  He  may  be  classed  as  a  mer- 
chant. 

"Henry  Johnson — makes  a  good  salary  work- 
ing on  the  railroad  and  has  a  daughter  at 
work  also. 


"These  five  I  have  discovered  to  be  unde- 
serving of  help.  If  any  gentleman  here  has 
more  to  add  to  this  list,  it  will  simplify  our 
process  of  elimination  and  enable  us  to  focus 
our  attention  upon  the  worthy." 

Nobody  stirred.     The  reaction  was  nil. 

Father  Coffey  waited  in  silence  to  see  what 
the  others  would  say.  They  said  nothing. 
They  were  back  in  the  stone  age.  "I  couldn't 
quite  get  it  all,"  said  one  of  them  afterwards. 
"But  I  knew  some  one  was  throwing  a  marlin- 
spike  into  the  machinery."  Father  Coffey 
arose.  He  had  not  much  patience  with  the 


128  He  Had  Compassion 

professional  uplifters.     As  a  class,  they  did 
not  seem  genuine  to  him. 

"Lady,"  he  said,  "and  gentlemen:  I  do  not 
wish  to  make  a  long  speech,  because  we  haven't 
the  time  now  for  anything  but  work.  How- 
ever, I  am  certain  that  I  voice  the  opinion  of 
every  man  here  when  I  express  our  apprecia- 
tion of  the  incomprehensibility  of  the  beauty 
-of  the  instruction  our  friend  has  vouchsafed  us. 

"Especially  illuminating  are  the  lady's  re- 
marks upon  statistics  as  compared  to  loot.  It 
recalls  to  our  minds,  I  am  sure,  the  saying  of 
Thucydides,  that  'the  only  thing  loot  needs  to 
succeed  is  to  have  itself  backed  up  by  statis- 
tics.' And  in  the  present  work,  if  we  wish  to 
avoid  the  rift  in  the  loot,  we  shall  likewise  have 
to  steer  clear  of  statistics. 

"As  to  the  five  names  given,  all  I  have  to 
say  is  that  if  Arthur  Landers  catches  fish,  he 
has  no  stove  to  cook  them  on.  If  David 
Whipple  owns  a  market  garden,  he  can't  put 
his  head  under  water  and  pull  up  radishes  with 
his  teeth.  If  Thomas  Williams  drinks,  his 
wife  and  children  must  eat.  As  for  the  others, 
they  may  be  making  money,  but  if  any  of  us 
found  a  millionaire  starving  in  the  desert,  we 
Wouldn't  tell  him  to  take  out  his  bank  book 
and  eat  it. 


He  Had  Compassion  129 

"To  conclude,  I  move  that  we  start  in  this 
very  hour  to  make  the  distribution,  each  of  us 
using  his  best  judgment  according  to  the  work 
assigned  to  him.  All  in  favor  of  the  motion 
will  please  say  'Aye.' ' 

A  resounding  chorus  of  male  voices  sang 
out  "Aye."  The  distribution  began  within 
the  hour. 

All  the  clothing  had  been  entrusted  to 
Father  Coffey.  It  made  a  mountainous  pile 
in  the  school  hall.  Himself,  with  some  trusty 
parish  assistants,  attended  personally  to  all 
the  work. 

On  the  second  day  of  the  distribution,  after 
all  who  had  come  had  been  fitted  out,  a  negro 
woman  wandered  into  the  hall  and  began  to 
look  about.  Father  Coffey  went  over  to  meet 
her. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you, 
madam?"  he  inquired. 

Madame  paused.  "Is  you  Preacher  Cof- 
fey?" she  asked. 

"Yes,  madam,"  said  Father  Coffey. 

"Well,  Ah'se  suah  glad  to  heah  it.  Dey 
tells  me  you  all  gives  the  people  jes'  what 
dey  want." 

"Yes,  anything  in  the  way  of  clothes,"  said 


130  He  Had  Compassion 

Father    Coffey.     "Do    you    live    along    the 
river?" 

"Ah'se  done  did  live  dere,"  said  madame. 
"But  dat  ribber  done  washed  mah  house  out 
clean." 

"Then  you'll  want  some  kitchen  things," 
said  Father  Coffey.  "I  can  tell  you  where  to 
get  a  stove  and  some  chairs  and  a  table." 

"Ah  doan  want  no  stoves,  an'  no  chaiahs,  an' 
no  tables." 

"Were  the  beds  carried  out  of  your  house, 
too?"  asked  Father  Coffey. 

"Yeah,  dey  was.  Eberyting  went  out, 
'cept  de  house.  But  Ah  doan  want  any  of 
dem  tings  now.  Ah'se  tell  you  all  whut  Ah 
do  want — "  lowering  her  voice  to  a  stage  whis- 
per and  rolling  her  eyes  around  the  hall,  "Ah 
want  a  set  of  furs." 

"A  set  of  furs!"  gasped  Father  Coffey. 

"Yeah,  a  set  of  furs,  like  de  grand  ladies 
wears.  Ah  ain't  neber  had  none,  and  Ah 
want  'em  now." 

Father  Coffey,  thoroughly  alive  to  the  hu- 
mor of  the  situation,  dug  into  the  mountain 
and  came  out  at  last  with  a  fur  coat.  She  put 
it  on  at  once. 

He  plunged  into  the  mass  again  and  exca- 
vated a  fur  hat.  Madame  took  off  her  old  hat 


He  Had  Compassion  131 

and  jammed  the  fur  one  on.     It  had  to  fit. 

At  the  third  attempt  Father  Coffey  came  up 
with  a  heavy  fur  muff. 

"I  hope  this  will  fit  you,  lady,"  he  said. 

She  pushed  her  hands  into  it  and  began 
marching  around  the  hall. 

"Ah'se  a  queen!"  she  exclaimed  in  ecstasy. 

It  was  a  warm  day  in  April  but  royalty 
never  bothers  with  the  weather.  She  steamed 
down  the  hill,  a  rapturous  ball  of  fur,  calling 
out  all  the  way,  "Ah'se  a  queen!  Ah'se  a 
queen !" 

With  the  view  of  continuing  and  fostering 
this  spirit  of  cooperation  in  Mingo,  Father 
Coffey  gave  an  annual  dinner  at  his  residence 
to  which  he  invited  the  head  men  of  the  mills 
and  his  business  friends  in  the  vicinity, 

"How  we  used  to  look  forward  to  those  din- 
ners!" said  one.  "The  welcome  we  received 
and  the  easy  way  in  which  we  got  to  feel  at 
home  there.  No  preliminary  melting  away  of 
thin  ice.  We  never  thought,  many  of  us,  that 
we  would  arrive  at  the  point  where  we  would 
be  happy  to  be  in  a  priest's  house. 

"Then  the  dinner!  The  banter  and  the  wit 
and  laughter  of  it  all,  with  Father  Coffey  lead- 
ing the  way.  It  made  me  feel  twenty  years 
younger.  We  were  all  like  a  bunch  of  boys. 


132  He  Had  Compassion 

"After  dinner  a  smoke  in  Father's  'den.' 
Here  we  got  down  to  business.  Our  discus- 
sions invariably  went  into  the  subjects  nearest 
Father  Coffey's  heart.  How  we  could  im- 
prove things  and  men  in  our  town;  defects 
that  ought  to  be  attended  to;  ways  and  means 
of  helping  the  workingman  and  his  family  and 
the  poor.  Father  didn't  forget  his  church, 
either. 

"We  left  his  house  better  men  and  more 
anxious  than  ever  to  do  our  part." 

On  other  occasions  he  would  invite  one  or 
other  of  the  men  to  dine  with  him,  to  talk 
over  special  cases  in  detail. 

In  this  busy  life  of  his,  it  was  not  to  be 
expected  that  Father  Coffey  could  always  es- 
cape criticism.  Wherever  a  strong  light  is 
focused  upon  a  central  figure,  there  will  al- 
ways be  some  croaking  from  the  outlying 
shadows.  The  following  is  a  copy  of  a  letter 
which  Father  Coffey  doubtless  sent,  and  of 
which  we  have  no  further  details.  Internal 
evidence,  however,  indicates  that  it  is  an 
answer  to  somebody,  who  was  indulging  in 
patronizing  worry  over  Father  Coffey's 
spiritual  welfare.  We  give  Father  Coffey's 
reply: 


He  Had  Compassion  133 

December  5, 

Dear  Sir: 

I  am  in  receipt  of  a  letter  from  you,  con- 
taining a  category  of  questions,  which  has 
given  me  no  little  surprise  and  vexation. 

The  matter  about  which  you  write  you  seem 
to  be  better  informed  on  than  I.  You  are  par- 
ticularly well  informed  as  to  date,  persons 
participating  and  program.  This  informa- 
tion you  seek  from  me,  yet  graciously  vouch- 
safe it  yourself.  The  only  question  you  did 
not  ask  was  whether  I  had  attended  the  af- 
fair. No  doubt  you  diligently  informed  your- 
self upon  this ;  hence  the  reason  for  not  adding 
it  to  your  category  above  mentioned. 

I  cannot  recall  any  action  of  mine  that  has 
jeopardized  my  standing  as  a  priest,  for  I 
feel  I  know  when  to  judge  between  my  official 
duties  and  my  privileges.  This  latter  I  know 
would  require  consultation  and  permission  of 
my  superiors.  To  these  would  I  have  recourse 
had  I  occasion  to  do  so,  and  to  these  would  I 
have  to  answer — and  to  these  only — were  I 
rash  enough  to  do  anything  which  might  incur 
their  censure. 

I  would  likewise  remind  you  that  my  zeal  for 
Catholic  principles  and  discipline,  though  it 


134  He  Had  Compassion 

may  not  be  spectacular,  is  nevertheless  sincere. 
Since,  therefore,  you  are  better  informed  on 
the  subject  about  which  you  write  than  I  am, 
I  must  tell  you  that  I  see  no  reason  for  fur- 
ther correspondence  between  us  on  the  matter. 

D.  A.  COFFEY. 

Father  Coffey's  charity  was  by  no  means 
restricted  to  community  emergencies.  He 
was  suspicious  of  what  are  nowadays  stjrled 
"movements,"  or  "drives." 

"The  organized  charity,  scrimped  and 
iced,"  found  him  somewhat  cold.  He  disliked 
its  air  of  condescension,  its  too  frequent  adver- 
tising of  self.  He  believed,  and  taught  his 
people,  that  the  best  form  of  charity  is  exer- 
cised by  the  individual  in  the  little  circle  where 
God  has  placed  him.  "Watch  that  spot,"  he 
used  to  say,  "and  you'll  find  plenty  to  do  with- 
out any  parading." 

He  gave  constant  example  of  his  teaching, 
No  case  of  need  in  his  parish  ever  went  un- 
attended ;  and  he  did  not  wait  until  the  trouble 
was  brought  to  him.  He  was  aggressive  in 
discovering  the  wants  of  others.  Particularly 
was  this  true  with  the  children.  He  observed 
each  child  in  the  school  and  noted  when  any 
seemed  to  need  assistance. 


He  Had  Compassion  135 

"Many  a  time,"  writes  one  of  the  Sisters 
who  taught  in  St.  Agnes'  School,  "he  would 
order  shoes  and  stockings,  in  fact  clothes  of 
all  kinds,  sent  to  the  Sisters'  house,  with  direc- 
tions to  have  the  needy  fitted  out.  This  was 
to  be  done  quietly  so  that  the  others  would  not 
find  it  out.  It  was  evident  to  me  why  he  was 
so  poor  himself. 

"I  remember  too,'?  continues  the  Sister, 
"his  goodness  to  the  children  of  the  mining 
camp  district.  This  was  a  shifting  district 
with  the  people  constantly  moving  in  and  out, 
and  besides  so  distant  and  isolated  a  place, 
that  even  with  the  cars  to  help,  it  was  not  easy 
to  reach.  Father  watched  the  children  there 
and  saw  that  they  were  prepared  for  the  Sac- 
raments. 

"Once  a  class  of  twelve  of  these  children 
were  instructed  for  their  First  Communion 
at  our  school.  Father,  at  his  own  expense, 
paid  their  way  in  and  out.  Before  the  great 
day  he  observed  that  three  of  them  would  not 
be  able  to  dress  for  the  occasion  as  neatly  as 
they  would  like  to.  He  fitted  out  -these  three 
with  suits  and  shoes.  On  their  Communion 
day  the  class  had  dinner  in  town,  which  Father 
paid  for.  Then  the  pastor,  holding  two  grin- 
ning lads  by  the  hands,  others  holding  on  to 


136  He  Had  Compassion 

his  coat,  the  rest  at  his  heels,  and  all  chattering 
together,  made  their  way  in  a  crowd  to  the 
movies. 

"In  the  evening,  amid  calls  of  'Good-by, 
Fader,'  and  'We  had  a  good  time,  Fader,'  they 
were  placed  on  the  street  car  for  home.  It  was 
hard  to  tell  who  had  enjoyed  the  day  most, 
the  priest  or  the  children." 

Tramps  had  his  house  marked.  He  was  a 
"sure  thing"  for  them.  He  never  gave  them 
much  money,  as  they  failed  to  fool  him  into 
believing  their  stories  of  a  cruel  world;  but 
he  would  never  take  the  chance,  as  he  said,  of 
adding  the  last  straw  to  their  burden.  "Be- 
sides," he  said,  "they  earn  the  little  they  get  in 
the  scolding  I  give  them." 

The  "scolding"  was  a  straight  talk  to  them 
to  get  to  work  and  take  care  of  themselves. 
Some  of  them  he  started  again  on  the  good 
road  by  getting  them  work  in  the  mills. 

Often  in  conversation  he  would  remark  that 
he  had  to  get  a  pair  of  shoes,  as  he  had  only 
one  pair. 

"Why,  where  are  your  shoes?  You  had  two 
pairs  last  week,"  said  one  who  had  seen  them. 

"Oh,  there  was  a  poor  fellow  over  at  the 
house  the  other  day,"  said  Father  Coffey,  "and 
his  shoes  looked  so  bad,  I  gave  him  mine." 


He  Had  Compassion  137 

When  the  children  presented  him  with  a 
Christmas  gift  in  money,  he  would  immedi- 
ately plan  to  return  it  in  some  way  for  their 
good. 

He  noted  what  one  might  call  little  needs  in 
the  children,  things  that  inexperienced  parents 
overlooked.  A  child  showed  by  his  actions  in 
class  that  he  was  shortsighted.  Father  Cof- 
fey  would  attend  to  him  when  the  parents 
could  not  afford  it. 

Jimmie  was  a  tall  gangling  young  lad,  just 
at  the  awkward  age,  and  very  nearsighted. 
Father  Coffey  met  him  one  day  and  said: 

"Let's  take  a  ride,  Jimmie.  I  want  you  to 
help  me." 

"All  right,  Father,"  said  Jimmie. 

They  boarded  a  car  and  rode  to  Steuben- 
ville,  Jimmie  wondering  what  was  in  the  air. 
Alighting,  they  went  straight  to  the  oculist, 
Jimmie  shuffling  along  after  Father  Coffey's 
fast  walk,  and  elbowing  a  lane  among  the 
passengers  along  the  street. 

"I  want  this  boy's  eyes  examined,"  said 
Father  Coffey  to  the  oculist.  "If  you  can, 
have  the  glasses  done  to-day." 

The  examination  was  made.  The  oculist 
arranged  with  the  optician  to  have  the  glasses 
done  that  afternoon. 


138  He  Had  Compassion 

Father  Coffey  and  Jimmie  met  at  the  ap- 
pointed time  at  the  optician's.  There  Jimmie 
put  on  his  first  pair  of  glasses.  The  new  ad- 
justment of  his  vision  bewildered  him  and  he 
stared  around  at  the  people  in  the  store  like 
an  owl  out  of  a  tree. 

Father  Coffey  looked  up  at  six-foot  Jimmie, 
in  his  quizzical  way,  and  then  in  a  serious  and 
business-like  tone,  said: 

"Come,  Secretary,"  and  with  the  dignity  of 
a  drum  major,  marched  out  of  the  store  with 
Jimmie  tumbling  along  after  him. 

Mr.  Klein,  a  clothing  merchant  of  Mingo, 
saw  Father  Coffey  coming  into  his  store  on  a 
very  cold  winter  morning.  Looking  a  second 
time,  he  saw  a  tiny  lad  alongside  of  Father. 
He  came  over  to  them. 

"Mr.  Klein,  I  just  picked  this  little  fellow 
up  along  the  street.  Dress  him  up,  or  he'll 
freeze  to  death.  He  needs  everything." 

The  boy  had  on  only  a  ragged  pair  of  trous- 
ers; he  was  barefooted,  hatless  and  naked 
from  the  waist  up  except  for  a  thin  piece  of  a 
shawl  he  had  twisted  about  him. 

"Sure,  we'll  fix  him  up,"  said  Mr.  Klein,  get- 
ting busy  at  once. 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"I  didn't  have  time  to  find  out  his  name  nor 


He  Had  Compassion  139 

where  he  comes  from,"  answered  Father  Cof- 
fey.  "I  just  dragged  him  in  here  before  he'd 
perish.  But  we'll  have  it  now.  What  is  your 
name,  son?" 

He  took  down  the  boy's  name  and  his  ad- 
dress. Mr.  Klein  fitted  him  out  from  top  to 
toe  and  the  lad  smiled. 

"Now,"  said  Father  Coffey,  "we'll  go  out 
and  put  something  inside  that  frozen  stomach, 
and  then  I'll  bet  you'll  laugh.  What  is  the 
bill,  Mr.  Klein?" 

"I'll  take  care  of  the  bill,  Father,"  said  Mr. 
Klein. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Klein.  Now"  (to  the 
boy),  "we'll  go  out  and  get  that  laugh  that's 
coming  to  us." 

And  the  two  had  breakfast  together. 

"I'll  never  forget  Father  Coffey,"  said  Mr. 
Klein,  after  telling  me  this  story.  "When  my 
mother  died  and  I  was  called  away  suddenly 
to  New  York,  the  first  thing  to  console  me 
there,  was  a  telegram  of  sympathy  from 
Father.  I  didn't  have  time  to  tell  any  one 
why  I  was  going,  but  Father  Coffey  saw  the 
store  closed  the  next  day  and  found  that  my 
mother  had  died;  and  he  went  right  away  and 
wrote  words  that  helped  me." 

When    Father    Coffey    died,    Mr.    Klein, 


140  He  Had  Compassion 

though  of  the  Jewish  faith,  sent  an  offering 
for  Masses  for  the  repose  of  his  friend's  soul. 

I  always  like  to  think  of  Father  Coffey  as 
he  was  in  those  golden  days  of  his  ministry. 
The  first  impression  I  had  of  him  was  that  of 
dignity,  and  this  impression  remained  through 
the  intimacy  of  after  years  of  friendship.  It 
was,  I  think,  the  general  impression.  A  dear 
invalid  lady,  who  knew  him  well,  but  who  had 
not  seen  him  for  years,  speaking  of  him  a  short 
time  back,  said  in  her  soft  whisper,  "Wasn't 
he  dignified !"  The  dedicatory  page  of  Father 
Powers*  booklet,  In  Memoriam,  describes  him 
as  a  man  respected  and  loved  by  all  who  knew 
him.  Respect  was  the  earliest  feeling  Father 
Coffey  inspired. 

His  appearance  conveyed  this  sense  at  once. 
He  was  tall,  just  under  six  feet,  and  very 
erect  in  bearing;  not  the  least  stiff,  however, 
nor  military  in  carriage.  On  the  contrary, 
his  every  movement  was  a  combination  of 
flexible  grace  and  easy  alertness.  He  was 
rapid  in  his  walk,  in  his  actions,  but  with  no 
suggestion  of  hurry.  A  quiet,  unstudied  ac- 
curacy, a  "deliberate  speed,  majestic  instancy" 
pervaded  all  he  did  and  revealed  that  thought 
was  well  in  advance  of  action  and  that  he 
knew  exactly  what  he  was  about.  Though  he 


He  Had  Compassion  141 

created  in  every  one  about  him  an  atmosphere 
of  contentment  and  repose,  yet  the  memory  of 
him  is  not  of  one  at  rest,  but  of  one  eagerly 
pressing  forward.  His  soul  had  caught  the 
quenchless  fire  from  Him  who  "went  about 
doing  good." 


CHAPTER  XII 
A  PORTRAIT  AND  A  WALK 

ALMOST  simultaneously  with  his  strength 
appeared  his  gentleness.  This  was  not 
revealed  as  a  passive  quality,  but  as  an  active, 
even  an  aggressive,  adaptability.  What  we 
termed  his  "approach,"  his  ability  to  judge 
each  character  swiftly  and  to  make  just  the 
proper  advance  to  it,  was  strikingly  in  evidence 
at  all  times.  If  Father  Coffey  met  twenty- 
five  strangers  in  succession,  he  could  say  the 
fitting  word  to  each  of  them,  with  no  two  re- 
marks alike,  and  the  chances  are  that  a  dozen 
of  these  remarks  would  be  witty  and  all  of 
them  brotherly.  He  never  offended  through 
tactlessness.  He  never  cut  unless  he  had  to. 
One  of  his  parishioners  unconsciously  voiced 
this  judgment  of  him  in  a  group  of  ladies. 
After  some  pleasant  banter  between  herself 
and  the  pastor,  in  which  a  good  laugh  finally 
turned  upon  her,  she  said: 

"Oh,  no  one  ever  minds  what  Father  Coffey 

142 


A  Portrait  and  a  Walk 

says."  She  meant  to  imply  that  she  enjoyed 
the  laugh  as  much  as  any  of  the  others. 

The  secret  of  his  perfect  balance  and  his 
gentleness  was  that  he  showed  respect  for 
everyone  as  a  good  father  would  for  his  chil- 
dren, the  children  of  God. 

His  voice  was  the  perfect  mate  to  his  man- 
ner. Decision  was  the  first  note  of  it,  but  in- 
stantly again  one  felt  it  permeated  with  intelli- 
gent sympathy.  He  never  gushed.  He 
spoke  rapidly,  but  his  words  came  "trippingly 
on  the  tongue,"  with  such  clear  enunciation 
that  every  syllable  was  caught  without  effort, 
and  every  shade  of  humor  or  feeling  rose  easily 
to  the  surface.  There  was  color  in  his  speech. 
He  never  spoke  loudly,  not  even  in  the  church, 
but  suited  the  tone  to  the  idea,  substituting  in- 
tensity for  volume  of  sound  when  desiring  to 
send  home  a  thought.  Hamlet's  address  to 
the  players  would  be  superfluous  for  Father 
Coffey.  In  his  sermons,  each  one  of  the  con- 
gregation felt  that  he  was  being  talked  to  indi- 
vidually. He  had  no  sympathy  for  the  "lion 
in  the  pulpit"  style  of  preaching. 

"Whenever  I  am  tempted  to  shout  in  a  ser- 
mon," he  said,  "I  think  of  the  Scripture  words, 
'The  devil  goeth  about  as  a  roaring  lion.* 
That  stops  me." 


144  A  Portrait  and  a  Walk 

He  was  convincing,  but  neither  resonant  nor 
domineering;  persuasive,  but  neither  oily  nor 
sentimental.  His  voice  held  the  intimate  note 
of  conversation  between  friends.  His  lan- 
guage was  fluent,  but  apt,  never  inflated  by 
phraseology  nor  banked  with  flowers.  There 
was  no  marking  time  in  his  sermons,  nor  coun- 
termarching. He  went  forward  constantly. 

I  find  it  difficult  to  describe  his  countenance. 
His  face  was  full,  not  fat,  and  with  a  touch  of 
the  florid ;  his  hair  was  dark,  his  forehead  high, 
looking  more  so  in  his  latter  years  of  advanc- 
ing baldness.  It  was  not  a  countenance  from 
which  one  would  anticipate  unusual  power  of 
expression;  yet  this  is  the  very  reason  that 
makes  it  difficult  to  fix  his  countenance  in  a 
portrait.  I  have  never  seen  a  picture  of  him  of 
which  I  could  say,  "That  is  Father  Coffey," 
He  must  have  been  the  despair  of  the  pho- 
tographers and  I  imagine  he  would  bewilder 
even  a  painter. 

Because  the  thoughts  of  his  constantly  active 
mind  rose  to  his  countenance  as  the  changing 
reflections  of  the  sky  reveal  themselves  in 
clear  waters,  and  with  a  similar  dissolving 
quietude ;  not  the  sudden  and  startling  changes 
of  the  nervous  temperament,  perturbing  the 
observer,  but  a  childlike  openness  of  soul  shone 


A  Portrait  and  a  Walk  145 

out  with  the  sure  serenity  that  betokened  as 
well  the  dignified  inner  control  of  the  man. 
Thompson's  lines 

Artless  as  the  air 

And  candid  as  the  skies, 

perhaps  describe  Father  Coffey's  countenance 
best.  And,  admittedly,  it  is  not  easy  to  put 
the  air  and  the  skies  upon  canvas. 

His  mouth  was  rather  small,  but  showing  de- 
cision, the  lips  even  and  well  together,  without 
any  hint  of  sullenness  or  acidity;  his  dark  blue 
eyes  were  lively  and  penetrating,  but  steady 
and  unsuspicious.  He  was  a  little  nearsighted 
and  when  he  wore  his  glasses,  one  of  his  man- 
nerisms (he  was  singularly  free  from  these) 
was  a  humorous  pushing  back  of  his  pince-nez 
upon  his  nose  which  seemed  to  be  restive  under 
the  pressure. 

"This  nose  doesn't  take  well  to  the  saddle," 
he  used  to  say. 

Finally  he  would  lay  the  glasses  aside  and 
would  appear  happier. 

If  he  were  indignant  or  angry,  a  fierce  light 
would  come  into  his  eyes  as  he  stood  straight 
and  perfectly  silent.  Almost  at  once,  how- 
ever, the  internal  check  to  his  anger  would 
begin  to  show  in  the  mingled  expression  of 


146  A  Portrait  and  a  Walk 

kindness  and  of  humor  that  came  up  from  their 
depths,  as  though  he  were  saying  within  him- 
self, "This  is  funny  as  well  as  serious  and  we'll 
find  the  remedy  for  the  blunder  anyway." 
His  anger  passed  off  like  a  summer  storm  and 
his  actions  toward  the  person  who  had  aroused 
it  were  as  natural  as  though  nothing  had  hap- 
;  pened.  He  was  very  slow  in  attributing  sin- 
ister motives  to  others.  The  only  permanent 
resentment  he  held  was  for  double  dealing  and 
hypocrisy. 

Father  Coffey  seldom  laughed.  In  an  at- 
mosphere vibrating  with  laughter,  created 
mostly  by  his  own  sayings,  he  had  a  bland  and 
innocent  way  of  looking  about  at  the  merriment 
he  caused  as  though  astonished  and  wondering 
what  they  were  all  laughing  at.  At  the  same 
time,  one  could  feel,  though  not  see,  that  he  was 
enjoying  the  fun  quite  as  much  as  anyone. 
This  attitude  of  unaffected  amazement  put  a 
rare  edge  upon  his  wit. 

On  the  other  hand,  his  sympathy  was  mani- 
fested with  equal  felicity.  His  manner,  his 
voice,  his  looks,  his  brief  but  chosen  words,  to- 
gether made  an  impression  upon  the  sorrow- 
ing and  the  lonely  that  they  never  forgot. 

I  had  been  giving  a  mission  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Mingo  and  at  its  close  dropped  in 


A  Portrait  and  a  Walk  147 

for  a  few  days  rest  at  St.  Agnes'  Rectory.  In 
the  evening  of  the  first  day,  Father  Coffey 
said: 

"Come,  we've  been  indoors  too  much  to-day. 
Let  us  have  a  little  walk."  We  strolled  out 
into  the  town.  We  had  gone  hardly  a  hundred 
feet  when  we  met  a  gentleman  coming  up  the 
street. 

"Good  evening,  Doctor,"  said  Father  Cof- 
fey, pausing. 

The  introductions  finished,  Father  Coffey 
said: 

"Father,  Doctor  is  the  rector  of  the 

church  here."  He  named  a  denomina- 
tional church.  "I  regret  to  hear,  Doctor,  that 
Mrs. has  not  been  well." 

"Yes,  Father,  I  fear  she  is  failing  fast," 
answered  the  rector. 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Father  Coffey. 
"Would  a  change  of  air  benefit  her?" 

"The  doctors  think  so,  Father,  but  where 
shall  I  get  the  means?" 

"Your  people  perhaps  would  help."  Dr. 
looked  dubious. 

"And  your  friends,"  continued  Father 
Coffey. 

Dr. knowing  what  was  meant,  looked 

gratefully  and  said: 


148  A  Portrait  and  a  Walk 

"Thank  you,  Father.  I  should  not  be 
ashamed  to  ask  you  if  I  needed  it." 

"Plan  it  out,"  said  Father  Coffey.  "And 
meantime  I  shall  not  forget  Mrs.  --  in  my 
prayers." 

We  moved  on.     In  another  moment, 

"Good  evening,  Andy,"  from  Father  Coffey. 
I  looked  up  and  met  a  handsome  giant,  a  tre- 
mendous man  of  flowing  muscle  and  athletic 
build,  straight  as  a  mountain  pine  and  stately 
as  a  commanding  general. 

"Good  evening,  Father,"  said  Andy,  cheer- 
fully but  reverently. 

"Andy,"  Father  Coffey  explained,  "is  the 
best  worker  in  our  mills,  even  if  I  do  say  it  to 
his  face."  Andy  laughed  bashfully,  but  hap- 


"And  what's  more,"  said  Father  Coffey,  "he 
is  one  of  the  best  workers  in  our  church.  Isn't 
he  a  handsome  Austrian?  He'd  have  made  a 
fine  Captain  of  the  Black  Hussars." 

"Father  make  fun,"  said  Andy  in  his  grow- 
ing English. 

"And  how  is  the  work  going,  Andy?" 

"Oh,  the  same,  Father.  I  am  just  going 
now  on  my  twenty-four  hours.  You  know  I 
fear  them,  Father.  If  anything  happens  to 


'A  Portrait  and  a  Walk  149 

me,  it  happens  then.  I  get  so  tired.  My  hand 
slips — foot  slips — all  over  with  Andy." 

"Now,  Andy,"  said  Father  Coffey,  "noth- 
ing will  happen  to  you.  Say  a  prayer  when 
you  start  and  often  when  you  are  working,  and 
I'll  say  many  prayers  for  you,  too,  and  put 
your  name  in  my  Masses.  You'll  be  safe, 
Andy.  Good-by  and  God  bless  you." 

We  came  to  a  millinery  store.  The  door 
was  open  and  several  lady  shoppers  within. 
Father  Coffey  stepped  in. 

"A  beauty  shop!"  he  exclaimed.  "Flowers 
on  the  hats  and  flowers  looking  at  the  hats !" 

"Oh,  Father  Coffey,  you're  terrible!"  said 
they,  meaning  he  was  delightful.  Evidently 
they  were  ladies  of  his  parish. 

"Aren't  these  flowers  lovely,"  he  said.  "I 
can  almost  smell  them.  Miss  Nellie,"  ad- 
dressing the  young  lady  who  kept  the  shop, 
"those  flowers  are  a  creation.  The  only  thing 
I  fear  is  that  when  the  ladies  bring  them  into 
church  on  their  hats,  they'll  distract  the  con- 
gregation. Good  evening,  ladies!" 

Down  the  street  we  go  amid  salutations 
right  and  left,  till  suddenly  we  stop. 

"How  do  you  do,  Sam?"  said  Father  Cof- 
fey. "Father,  here's  a  man  I  want  you  to 


150  A  Portrait  and  a  Walk 

meet.  This  is  Sam  ,  and  he's  a  pagan 

Jew.  What  do  you  think  of  that!  It 
wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  he  were  an  orthodox. 
But  a  pagan  Jew!  I  think  I'll  make  a  Cath- 
olic out  of  him.  He's  too  good  to  leave  out  in 
the  cold  this  way."  Sam  was  smiling  all  the 
while,  unembarrassed. 

"But  Sam  is  one  of  my  best  friends,  all  the 
same,"  continued  Father,  "and  he  has  a  heart 
as  big  as  himself.  We're  on  the  hospital  com- 
mittee together  and  I  know  Sam  is  doing  good 
work.  When  is  the  next  meeting,  Sam?" 

"Wednesday  night,  Father,"  said  Sam. 

'Til  be  there.    Good-by,  Sam." 

"Good-by,  Father." 

Now  we  climb  up  and  sideways  and  around 
until  we  arrive  at  the  poorest  section  of  the 
town — a  jumble  of  wretchedly  built  houses, 
impossible  of  repair.  Sanitation,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  cleanliness,  was  an  absent  feature  of  the 
place. 

"This  isn't  going  to  stay  this  way,"  said 
Father  Coffey,  as  we  stood  together  and  looked 
about.  "We  have  been  talking  over  this  spot 
at  the  mill  and  a  change  is  on  the  way." 

To-day  this  locality  is  in  process  of  becoming 
one  of  the  neatest  spots  in  Mingo.  Trim, 
well-kept  homes,  many  of  them  new,  are  build- 


A  Portrait  and  a  Walk  151 

ing,  with  all  the  ordinary  modern  improve- 
ments, nicely  painted  and  with  grassy  little 
lawns  where  formerly  the  ash  heap  flourished 
— the  slum  will  soon  be  transfigured  into  a 
thing  of  beauty.  The  steel  company  has  taken 
up  the  question  of  good  homes  for  its  employes, 
has  devised  a  clever  and  very  liberal  home  own- 
ing plan,  cooperating  with  its  men  in  building 
their  houses  and  in  paying  for  them,  and  there 
will  be  no  more  comfortable  homes  anywhere 
than  those  of  the  workingmen  of  Mingo. 

We  move  across  the  town  a  bit,  mount  the 
steps  of  a  dwelling  and  ring  the  bell.  The 
door  is  opened. 

"Oh,  Father  Coffey,"  says  a  boy's  hearty 
voice.  "Come  in,  Father." 

Father  Coffey  looks  through  to  the  dining 
room  and  sees  the  family  are  at  supper  and 
are  beginning  to  rise. 

"Don't  get  up,"  he  calls  to  them.  "We're 
coming  right  in  to  you."  They  do  as  he  says 
and  in  a  moment  he  is  among  them.  After 
introductions,  he  says: 

"We're  both  thirsty,  and  we'll  enjoy  a  cup 
of  tea  with  you." 

A  place  is  made  for  each  of  us  and  in  an- 
other moment  Father  Coffey  is  cozily  chatting 
with  the  family  of  father,  mother  and  six  chil- 


152  A  Portrait  and  a  Walk 

dren,  all  perfectly  at  their  ease  with  their 
pastor.  He  has  a  question  for  each  child,  with 
a  humorous  comment  for  each  that  delights 
everyone.  After  our  cup  of  tea  is  finished,  we 
leave  them  there  pleased  and  happy. 

By  this  we  are  nearly  back  at  the  rectory. 
At  the  corner  we  come  upon  a  group  of  chil- 
dren. 

"Hello,  Joe!  Hello,  Tommy!  Hello, 
Harry!  And  here's  Billy.  What  grade  are 
you  in,  Billy?" 

"Jus'  beginnin'  de  firs',  Fader,"  says  Billy. 

"Did  the  Sisters  teach  you  to  spell  anything 
yet?"  asks  Father. 

"Yes,  Fader,  but  not  hard  words,"  says 
Billy,  cautiously. 

"Well,  I'll  bet  you  can't  spell  'house',"  says 
Father.  Billy  looks  pained.  "Here,"  con- 
tinued Father  Coffey,  reaching  into  his  pocket, 
"I  have  five  pennies.  I'll  give  you  one  for 
every  letter  you  get  correctly.  Now  spell 
'house'." 

The  ring  of  youngsters  falls  back  to  a  stra- 
tegic distance,  leaving  Billy  in  the  center. 

"House,"  says  Billy  in  a  far  away  tone,  his 
eyes  wandering  to  the  ring.  He  comes  back 
from  his  forage  and  says  loudly : 

"Haitch— " 


A  Portrait  and  a  Walk  153 

"Aitch  is  right,"  says  Father.  "Here's  one 
penny." 

Billy  grabs  the  penny  and  goes  at  the  job 
again,  fixing  his  eyes  intently  upon  the  ring. 

"I—"  he  announces.  He  had  missed  his 
signals. 

"Here,  you  fellows,"  said  Father  Coffey, 
turning  to  the  ring.  "No  fair  on  that! 
You're  telling.  You  can't  spell  'house'  your- 
selves. 'I'  in  'house'!"  he  said  hopelessly. 

"We  never  told  him  'I,'  Fader,"  chorused 
the  gang. 

"Ah,  yuh  did  too  tell  me  'I',"  says  Billy, 
giving  away  the  game. 

"Ah,  we  never!"  said  the  ring,  with  deep 
scorn  for  Billy. 

"Well,  don't  tell  him  anything,  or  you  won't 
get  any  fill-me-quicks  and  ink." 

"Fill-me-quicks"  meant  baker's  cakes  and 
muffins.  "Ink"  was  his  name  for  soft  drinks. 

This  direful  threat  reduced  the  crowd  to  a 
suffocated  silence. 

"Try  again,  Billy,"  said  Father  Coffey. 
"House,"  saying  it  very  carefully  for  him. 

"O— "  ventured  Billy. 

"That's  it,"  said  Father  Coffey.  "Here's 
another  penny." 

By  dint  of  more  pronouncing,  he  forced  the 


154  A  Portrait  and  a  Walk 

letters  u,  s,  e,  from  Billy,  until  the  youngster 
had  the  five  pennies. 

"See,  Billy?"  he  said.  "You  can  spell  with- 
out anyone  telling  you.  After  that  wonder- 
ful, orderly  class,  here's  something  for  the 
crowd.  Get  your  fill-me-quicks  and  ink  and 
divide  evenly.  And  don't  leave  Billy  out, 
either.  Now  beat  it." 

We  went  into  the  house  and  the  gang  "beat 
it"  down  the  hill  with  a  whoop. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  PARISH  OF  PEACE 

4 'TOURING  the  eleven  years  of  his  pas- 
JL/  torate  here  the  spiritual  progress  of 
St.  Agnes'  never  lagged  and  the  most  signifi- 
cant feature  of  its  uninterrupted  growth  was 
the  large  number  of  reconciliations  he  brought 
about."  I  quote  from  Father  Powers'  mem- 
orial sketch  of  Father  Coffey.  Father 
Powers,  as  the  neighboring  priest  in  St.  Peter's 
parish  of  Steubenville,  and  as  a  close  and  sym- 
pathetic observer  of  the  work  done  in  St. 
Agnes',  had  every  opportunity  of  knowing  the 
inner  heart  of  the  parish.  The  outstanding 
visible  blessing  brought  to  the  people  through 
the  ministrations  of  Father  Coffey  was  the 
grace  of  brotherly  love.  "Little  children,  love 
one  another,"  was  the  gospel  constantly 
preached  by  word  and  example  all  those  years. 
In  a  parish  like  St.  Agnes' — "The  parish  of 
the  Five  Nations,"  Father  Coffey  used  to  call 
it — it  was  easy  to  anticipate  misunderstandings 

155 


156  A  Parish  of  Peace 

between  individuals  and  more  especially  be- 
tween groups  of  nationally  different  people, 
many  of  whom  were  brought  up  in  the  old 
country  to  dislike  one  another.  From  child- 
hood they  breathed  a  traditional  atmosphere  of 
hostility  and  mistrust.  Political  intrigue  saw 
to  it  that  the  earliest  impressions  upon  the 
waxen  hearts  of  the  young  were  seared  in  with 
the  hot  iron  of  hatred.  Let  such  a  child  grow 
up  with  this  seal  stamped  in  and  hardened 
upon  his  heart  and  it  becomes  second  nature  in 
the  man.  To  eradicate  it  and  to  substitute 
God's  law,  "Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as 
thyself,"  requires  divine  grace,  indeed;  but, 
under  God's  dispensation,  requires  also  a  faith- 
ful bearer  of  the  torch  of  grace,  a  worthy  dis- 
penser of  the  word  of  the  Spirit. 

Father  Coffey  was  the  electric  spark  that 
fused  these  opposite  and  dangerous  elements 
into  one  homogeneous  and  wholesome  sub- 
stance. 

He  acted  upon  the  principle  that  people  who 
like  the  same  thing  will  ultimately  like  one  an- 
other; and  he  was  the  "thing"  they  were  going 
to  like.  I  had  an  opportunity  of  personally 
observing  his  memorable  success  in  this  field. 

Arriving  in  Mingo  one  evening  for  a  short 
stay  between  trains,  I  was  told  that  I  had  come 


A  Parish  of  Peace  157 

just  in  time  for  a  parish  outing,  a  boat  ride  on 
the  river. 

"The  Five  Nations  are  going  on  a  moonlight 
picnic  this  evening,"  said  Father  Coffey,  "and 
you  must  come  along." 

I  had  doubts  of  my  ability  to  mingle  at  all 
gracefully  with  the  "Five  Nations"  and  felt 
that  my  awkwardness  would  prove  a  killjoy 
rather  than  a  help.  I  pleaded  train  fatigue 
and  offered  to  stay  at  home  and  keep  house. 

"No,  no,  by  no  means,"  said  Father  Coffey. 
"There'll  be  no  house  to  keep.  The  whole 
parish  will  be  out."  So  I  went  down  to  the 
wharf  and  boarded  the  big  boat. 

They  were  all  there,  as  he  said.  The  boat 
was  crowded.  A  band  was  playing;  children 
chattering  over  the  sides ;  young  folks  walking 
mostly  in  twos  as  well  as  one  could  walk  in  that 
crowd;  the  older  people  grouped  in  cozy  cor- 
ners. The  boat  cast  off  amid  cheers  from  land 
and  shore  and  the  "Five  Nations"  were  afloat. 

But  they  weren't  the  "Five  Nations"  at  all. 
There  was  only  one  nation.  Instead  of  seeing 
distinct  parties  of  Americans,  Hungarians, 
Austrians,  Slovaks,  Italians,  Poles,  Serbians, 
Croatians,  I  found,  after  a  little  looking  about, 
that  I  could  not  begin  to  pick  them  out  sepa- 
rately. Americans  were  talking  familiarly 


158  A  Parish  of  Peace 

with  Slovaks;  Hungarians  "chumming"  with 
Italians;  Poles,  Serbians,  Croatians  laughing 
and  joking  together,  everyone  snugly  at  home 
with  everybody  else. 

What  was  more,  I  was  not  left  out  of  it  for 
a  moment.  I  had  hesitated  to  go  to  the  picnic, 
forecasting  the  probability  of  my  being  a  spec- 
ter at  the  feast;  but  once  I  got  aboard  that 
boat,  I  wasn't  allowed  to  hesitate.  I  didn't 
have  to  make  any  advances.  They  made  the 
advances.  I  was  invited  to  sit  down  here,  and 
called  to  come  over  there,  and  hailed  from  the 
upper  deck  and  waved  at  from  the  lower  deck, 
until  I  began  to  feel  like  the  nominee  for  the 
Presidency. 

They  had  brought  lunches  with  them  and  I 
was  in  on  the  lunches — or  they  were  in  on  me, 
as  I  found  out  afterwards.  I  ate  Hungarian 
sausage  laid  on  Slovakian  cakes;  I  juggled 
Italian  spaghetti  between  bites  of  Croatian 
cheese;  I  swallowed  American  ice-cream,  and 
— let  me  speak  it  in  a  whisper — I  drank  Bul- 
garian beer.  It  was  a  fearsome  performance. 
Being  all  things  to  all  men  sometimes  has  its 
aftermath.  The  specters  at  the  feast  came 
around  the  next  day. 

The  old  folks  talked  with  me  as  though  they 
had  known  me  all  their  lives.  The  youngsters 


A  Parish  of  Peace  159 

asked  me  to  play  games  that  demanded  the 
agility  of  a  rabbit.  Meantime  the  band  kept 
swinging  into  one  air  out  of  another  until  we 
were  well  on  our  way.  Then  the  dancers  be- 
gan. There  were  American  quadrilles,  and 
Irish  reels,  and  Scotch  flings,  and  Hungarian 
hops,  and  Slavish  folk  dances  and  all  were  ap- 
plauded and  appreciated. 

Moving  constantly  in  and  out  through  the 
throngs  went  Father  Coffey,  like  a  humming 
bird,  with  a  word  here  and  a  joke  there;  an 
inquiry  of  one  person,  a  bit  of  news  for  an- 
other ;  paying  special  attention  to  the  old  peo- 
ple and  seeing  that  they  were  comfortable  and 
had  everything  they  wished  for.  He  must 
have  walked  twenty  miles  that  night,  but  it  was 
twenty  miles  on  the  road  to  happiness. 

"Here,"  I  found  myself  thinking,  "is  a  re- 
production of  the  early  Christians.  'Every 
nation  under  heaven'  and  all  understanding 
one  tongue,  as  it  were,  the  Pentecostal  tongue 
of  love."  Any  bystander  could  say,  too,  as 
was  said  of  those  same  early  Christians,  "How 
they  love  one  another!" 

I  looked  out  on  the  serene  night.  The  boat 
was  gurgling  melodiously  through  the  shim- 
mering ripples.  The  band  struck  softly  the 
"O  Sanctissima"  and  a  quiet  came  over  the 


100  A  Parish  of  Peace 

crowd.  The  boat  was  slipping  into  her  land- 
ing place.  I  looked  up.  The  round  moon 
was  shining  down  contentedly. 

"Oh,  look,"  said  one  of  the  children.  "The 
man  in  the  moon  is  smiling  at  us." 

"No  wonder,"  I  said. 

Another  thought  struck  me  as  we  walked  up 
to  the  house  after  the  picnic.  Over  the  whole 
boat  all  the  conversations,  the  joking  and  the 
merriment,  had  been  carried  on  in  the  English 
language  and  the  entire  entertainment  was 
American  in  tone.  Father  Coffey  had  solved 
the  problem  of  the  melting  pot. 

One  of  the  reasons  for  such  a  success, 
achieved  within  ten  years,  was  the  unwearied 
service  Father  Coffey  gave  to  the  parishioners. 
In  all  his  time  with  them  he  took  but  one  vaca- 
tion of  any  extent ;  and  he  never  left  his  parish 
a  day  without  a  priest.  He  established  Sodal- 
ities, with  one  of  the  Sisters  acting  as  Prefect 
for  the  ladies.  He  had  a  great  devotion  to 
the  Blessed  Sacrament  and  to  the  Sacred 
Heart.  The  first  Friday  was  a  special  day  in 
the  parish.  He  insisted  upon  the  children 
going  to  Holy  Communion  the  first  Friday 
and  any  child  who  was  absent  was  invariably 
missed  by  the  pastor  and  was  questioned  about 
it  afterward. 


A  Parish  of  Peace  161 

The  Holy  Hour  was  never  omitted  on  this 
day.  One  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Agnes'  School 
writes:  "Father  ascribed  all  his  success  as  a 
priest  and  all  the  blessings,  spiritual  and  tem- 
poral, that  came  to  the  parish,  to  the  devotion 
of  the  Holy  Hour." 

He  had  great  confidence,  also,  in  the  inter- 
cession of  the  saints.  His  favorite  was  the 
saint  of  the  poor,  St.  Francis  of  Assisi.  He 
was  often  found  in  the  evenings  re-reading  the 
life  of  this  charming  saint,  and  the  example  of 
St.  Francis  doubtless  had  great  influence  on 
his  own  life. 

He  took  good  care,  however,  not  to  ask  St. 
Francis  for  money.  "We'll  have  to  leave  St. 
Francis  out  of  this,"  he  used  to  say  when  there 
was  a  question  of  raising  funds.  "He  won't 
be  interested."  On  such  occasions  he  went  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin  and  to  the  Little  Flower. 

He  said  Mass  with  great  devotion  and  after 
Mass  he  made  a  visit  to  each  shrine  in  the  little 
church.  If  his  needs  were  very  urgent,  he 
made  a  novena  of  visits  to  these  shrines  and  all 
the  Sisters  were  asked  to  make  a  visit  to  the 
shrines  some  time  during  the  day.  Each  saint 
then  had  a  lamp  of  oil  burning  before  his  statue 
throughout  the  nine  days. 

Considering  all  the  smoke  that  poured  over 


162  A  Parish  of  Peace 

the  place  day  and  night,  his  church  was  won- 
derfully clean.  His  altar  boys  were  well 
trained  and  always  on  time.  They  observed, 
too,  the  rule  of  silence  in  the  sacristy.  It  was 
a  crowded  little  nook,  but  no  matter  how  loudly 
those  boys  had  been  talking  and  playing  out- 
side, the  moment  they  entered  that  sacristy 
they  never  spoke  unless  in  answer  to  some 
question  from  the  priest. 

"Father  Coffey  took  a  childlike  delight," 
writes  one  of  his  friends,  "in  seeing  the  altar 
decorated  with  flowers.  Sixty  to  eighty  dol- 
lars were  expended  every  Christmas  and  Eas- 
ter to  beautify  God's  earthly  home.  For  the 
Holy  Hour,  too,  he  always  had  fresh  flowers." 

He  was  steady  and  regular  in  the  Confes- 
sional and  strongly  urged  frequent  Com- 
munion. Missions  were  held  at  set  intervals 
and  for  the  portion  of  his  congregation  who 
could  not  grasp  the  English  well  enough,  he 
engaged  missionaries  who  spoke  their  lan- 
guage. During  the  week  of  the  mission,  he 
was  in  the  highways  and  the  byways  gathering 
in  the  sinners. 

His  reputation  as  a  pursuivant  made  this 
part  of  his  work  comparatively  easy.  Hard 
shells  broke  open  at  his  touch  and  slackers,  at 
his  approach,  emerged  from  their  dugouts. 


A  Parish  of  Peace  163 

"Aw,  what's  the  use,"  said  one  of  them  who 
had  been  pursued  for  two  days.  "I'm  nearly 
dead,  and  he'll  get  me  anyhow.  The  only 
way  to  get  loose  from  him  is  to  jump  in  the 
river." 

One  instance  of  his  following  the  strayed 
sheep  occurs  to  me.  During  a  mission  we  had 
been  giving  in  his  parish,  he  frequently  be- 
wailed the  fact  that  there  was  one  man  whom 
he  could  not  get,  who  had  not  been  near  the 
church  for  years. 

"And  yet  Bill  is  a  good  fellow,"  he  said. 
"He  has  the  loveliest  children  going  to  our 
school  and  he  provides  well  for  his  family.  I 
can't  think  of  him  missing  this  chance." 

Mary  was  Bill's  little  daughter.  Father 
Coffey  enlisted  Mary  in  the  cause. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  "you  will  have  to  make  the 
mission  every  night  for  your  father." 

"Yes,  Father,  I'll  make  it  for  him,"  an- 
swered Mary. 

Mary  came  faithfully  night  after  night,  but 
had  to  report  to  Father  Coffey:  "No  change 
in  papa." 

"Too  bad,  Mary,"  said  Father  Coffey. 
"But  we'll  not  give  up." 

Friday  night  came  bringing  a  heavy  rain 
during  the  services.  Father  Coffey  saw  his 


164  A  Parish  of  Peace 

chance.  He  got  a  big  cloak  and  went  into  the 
church,  found  Mary  and  told  her  to  come  into 
the  vestibule.  When  there: 

"Here,  Mary,"  he  said,  "put  this  cloak 
around  you  and  we'll  run  over  to  the  house  a 
minute.  I  want  you  to  telephone  to  papa  to 
come  and  take  you  home.  Tell  him  to  bring 
a  raincoat  for  you."  Mary  obeyed,  wonder- 
ing what  it  meant. 

"Now,  Mary,"  said  Father  Coffey,  "y°u 
hurry  back  to  the  church.  Papa  will  be  wait- 
ing for  you  at  the  door  of  the  church,  but  don't 
you  come  out  that  way.  You  go  up  past  the 
altar  and  go  down  that  way  to  the  basement 
where  the  religious  articles  are.  Stay  there  as 
long  as  you  can,  picking  out  a  nice  pair  of 
beads  for  yourself.  Don't  come  out  till  I  tell 
you.  Here's  something  to  buy  the  beads 
with." 

Mary  was  a  bright  girl  and  understood  read- 
ily. The  services  closed  and  Mary  made  her 
way  quickly  down  to  the  basement.  Father 
Coffey  stepped  into  the  sacristy  and  there  hap- 
pened upon  me. 

"Father,"  he  said,  "I  wish  you  wouldn't  go 
into  the  confessional  for  a  while  to-night.  I 
have  a  big  fish  I  am  catching  to-night  and  you 
can  help  me.  He'll  be  as  good  as  fifty  others. 


A  Parish  of  Peace  165 

Go  down  to  the  basement  and  I'll  meet  you 
there  after  a  while  and  tell  you  more." 

As  much  mystified  as  Mary  was,  I  went 
down  to  the  basement  and  waited.  The  pur- 
chasers of  religious  articles  were  leaving  one  by 
one  and  nothing  happened.  Meantime,  Bill 
was  waiting  before  the  church  door,  wondering 
why  Mary  did  not  appear.  He  began  to  be 
anxious  and  to  look  in.  Father  Coffey  spied 
him  and  going  out  to  him  said  pleasantly : 

"Good  evening,  Bill.  How  did  you  enjoy 
the  sermon?" 

"I  wasn't  at  the  sermon,"  said  Bill,  uneasily. 
"I'm  waiting  to  bring  Mary  home.  I  wonder 
where  she  is." 

"Oh,  Mary!"  said  Father  Coffey,  in  appar- 
ent surprise.  "I  just  saw  Mary  downstairs. 
She  is  getting  a  pair  of  beads  or  something. 
You  just  go  around  the  church,  Bill,  and  wait 
for  her  at  the  side  door  below.  She'll  be  out 
right  away." 

A  moment  after  Father  Coffey  came  on  the 
jump  into  the  basement  and  said  to  me: 

"You'll  find  your  man  standing  just  outside 
the  door  over  there.  Get  him  any  way  you 
can.  I'll  let  nobody  out  that  way." 

Then  he  saw  Mary.  "Don't  you  move  yet, 
Mary,"  he  warned. 


166  A  Parish  of  Peace 

I  wandered  over  to  the  door,  opened  it  as 
though  to  look  out  at  the  rain  still  pouring 
down  and  saw  a  man  alongside  of  me  under 
the  arch  of  the  doorway. 

"Good  evening,"  I  said.  "Big  rain  we're 
having." 

We  began  a  conversation  which  ended  with- 
in five  minutes  with  Bill  making  his  confession 
standing  there  in  the  doorway,  the  rain  splash- 
ing all  around  us.  It  was  easy  to  reach  Bill, 
too. 

I  think  that  in  a  sudden  flash,  Bill  saw 
through  the  whole  elaborate  plan  of  Father 
Coffey  and  at  that  moment  the  grace  of  God 
made  him  see  how  he  was  pursued.  The 
"Hound  of  Heaven"  had  touched  him  at  last. 

"Thank  God!"  said  Father  Coffey,  when  I 
told  him  all  was  well.  "Now,  Mary,  you  can 
go  to  your  father — and  God  bless  you!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 
STRAWS 

TO  assemble  such  diverse  forces  and  to  gear 
them  so  accurately  as  to  have  them  re- 
volve together  without  friction,  is  in  itself  a 
notable  work.  But  to  keep  them  as  they  have 
begun  is  the  final  test  of  values.  Putting  a 
hand  to  the  plow  is  easy.  The  difficult  thing 
is  to  keep  from  looking  back  and  then  letting 
go.  Beginnings  may  be  hard,  but  the  un- 
broken, relentless  continuing  at  it  is  harder. 
The  grind  of  eternal  vigilance  is  wearing  on 
soul  and  body,  yet  that  is  the  price,  not  alone 
of  liberty,  but  of  everything  great  that  man 
attempts. 

This  was  a  truth  that  Father  Coffey  reduced 
to  practice  in  the  upbuilding  of  his  parish. 
He  watched  the  gearing  constantly  and  as  soon 
as  he  noted  the  beginnings  of  trouble,  he  acted 
quickly.  His  watchfulness  did  not  take  the 
form  of  gossiping  or  of  spying,  however.  He 
tabled  nearly  all  tales  and  discouraged  their 
bearers.  If  he  considered  a  report,  it  was  only 

167 


168  Straws 

to  sift  it  to  the  bottom.  He  did  not  credit 
paper  statistics.  His  method  was  to  go  to  the 
person  involved  and  there  he  depended  upon 
getting  the  truth.  Generally  he  did,  because 
he  was  trusted. 

His  action  in  any  matter  was  carefully  ad- 
justed to  the  character  he  was  meeting.  He 
was  quick,  but  never  pounced  upon  anyone, 
never  nagged  nor  stormed.  His  intuition  was 
exceptional  and  his  corrections  were  always 
flavored  with  humor. 

One  Sunday  morning  he  was  entering  the 
church  to  say  Mass,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  Sue 
Carbery,  ordinarily  a  very  staid  and  unpreten- 
tious, but  to-day  a  highly  decorated,  person. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Father  Coffey.  "My 
God,  Sue,  you  have  enough  powder  on  your 
face  this  morning  to  make  a  batch  of  biscuits !" 

"Father,"  replied  Sue,  not  at  all  discon- 
certed, "I  put  on  an  extra  supply.  I'm  going 
to  be  out  for  the  day." 

A  widow  made  a  second  marriage.  A  week 
later  the  newly  wedded  wife  called  at  the  rec- 
tory to  have  the  priest  settle  matrimonial  diffi- 
culties. 

"I  am  unable  to  account  for  the  trouble," 
she  said,  "as  I  asked  the  guidance  of  St.  Joseph 
in  my  choice." 


Straws  169 

"Poor  St.  Joseph!"  said  Father  Coffey. 
"That's  the  way  people  treat  him.  They  go 
in  front  of  him  and  make  pious  faces  at  him. 
Then  they  get  behind  him  and  shove  him 
around  until  they  have  him  over  in  the  corner 
they've  already  picked  out  for  him,  whether  he 
likes  it  or  not;  and  they  put  the  words  into  his 
mouth.  If  you  had  let  St.  Joseph  take  a  hand 
in  this,  all  would  be  well;  but  he  has  the  name 
without  the  gain." 

During  one  of  his  sermons  a  baby  became 
restless  and  began  to  cry.  The  crying  grew 
in  volume  until  it  filled  the  church  and  it  be- 
came plain  that  either  Father  Coffey  or  the 
baby  would  have  to  stop. 

"There  are  two  of  us  preaching  in  this 
church  at  once,"  said  he,  "and  I  don't  know 
which  of  us  is  giving  the  better  sermon.  When 
a  baby  cries  in  church,  he  is  telling  us  two 
things.  First,  that  there  are  babies  in  the  fam- 
ily; and  second,  that  the  mother  has  come  to 
Mass  with  her  baby.  On  the  whole,  I  think 
the  baby  is  preaching  the  better  sermon  and  I'll 
let  him  go  on  with  it.  In  the  name  of  the 
Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy 
Ghost."  And  he  continued  the  Mass. 

A  class  of  boys  in  the  high  school  got  a  spell 
of  coltishness  and  began  some  of  their  boys' 


170  Straws 

irresponsible  plunging  and  galloping.  Sister 
warned  them  to  settle  down,  but  the  spring  was 
in  their  blood  and  they  had  to  go  through  with 
it.  Finally  Sister  complained  to  Father  Cof- 
fey,  a  thing  she  seldom  did,  and  then  told  the 
boys  they  had  better  expect  something  as 
Father  knew  of  their  conduct.  They  settled 
down  beautifully  but  they  felt  the  worst  had 
not  }ret  arrived.  A  week  passed  and  they  were 
beginning  to  feel  easy,  when  one  morning 
Father  Coffey  appeared  and  proceeded  to 
settle  the  matter. 

He  said  no  word  but  immediately  started 
showering  blows  right  and  left  on  the  backs 
of  the  offenders,  with  a  short  rubber  hose 
he  had  taken  from  his  pocket.  They  all 
knew  what  the  punishment  was  for  and 
their  thoughts  were  not  of  surprise  but  of 
escape. 

There  was  a  large  bookcase,  with  glass  doors, 
on  one  side  of  the  room  and  in  a  moment  the 
quickwitted  lads  had  ranged  themselves  with 
their  backs  to  it,  knowing  that  Father  would 
be  handicapped  by  this  background.  Then 
they  threw  up  their  hands.  Father  Coffey 
looked  them  over  seriously  and  then  spoke  the 
only  words  that  were  said  all  through  the  per- 
formance. 


Straws  171 

"Good  morning,  Sister.  Good  morning, 
children,"  and  walked  out. 

It  is,  perhaps,  bromidic  to  say  that  all  the 
dogs  of  the  town  were  friends  of  Father  Cof- 
fey.  Every  modern  novel  hero  is  "loved  by 
dogs  and  children."  Whether  the  dogs  loved 
Father  or  not,  we  have  to  say  that  Father  liked 
dogs.  Seeing  this,  a  gentleman  of  the  town 
presented  him  with  a  huge  Newfoundland. 
Father  Coffey  was  very  proud  of  the  animal 
and  used  to  take  him  out  on  exhibition  walks 
through  the  streets.  But  he  had  to  give  him 
up. 

"That  wasn't  a  dog,"  he  said.  "It  was  a 
steam  roller.  I  couldn't  stand  the  expense. 
Every  time  he  leaned  against  anything  in  the 
house,  he  broke  it.  After  he  began  caving  in 
the  front  porch  I  saw  I'd  have  to  take  out  a 
new  insurance  policy  for  cyclones.  He'd 
make  a  fine  house  wrecker." 

Soon  after  this,  his  friend  Father  Ryan  pre- 
sented him  with  another,  a  Boston  bull  dog, 
they  called  it.  If  the  Bostonese  knew  about 
this,  they  tolerated  a  libel.  He  was  the  ugliest 
dog  in  the  world,  with  a  shape  like  Daniel 
Quilp's  and  a  face  that  would  have  made  a 
gargoyle  jealous.  When  he  arrived  at  the 
house  and  was  uncrated,  Father  Coffey  looked 


172  Straws 

at  him  sideways  over  the  rim  of  his  glasses  and 
named  him,  "Pansy."  He  was  loyal  to  Pansy, 
probably  because  of  his  friendship  for  Father 
Ryan.  Whatever  the  reason,  to  any  unfavor- 
able comments  made  about  Pansy's  beauty,  he 
would  seriously  reply: 

"Pansy  is  a  lovely  dog.  He's  pedigreed. 
He  belongs  to  a  royal  family." 

Every  morning  thereafter,  himself  and 
Pansy  could  be  found  walking  up  and  down 
the  front  yard  for  Pansy's  exercise.  The  Sis- 
ters passed  that  way  to  Mass  in  the  morning 
and  if  by  chance  the  dog  would  run  to  the 
fence  to  greet  them,  he  would  be  reminded  by 
Father  Coffey  calling  to  him  in  a  tone  of  pro- 
fessorial reprimand,  "Here,  Pansy,  choose 
your  company." 

To  live  with  Father  Coffey  in  his  home  was 
to  enjoy  the  ideal  of  priestly  hospitality.  A 
visitor  there  felt  that  surely  enough  he  had 
come  into  harbor.  Even  outside  the  charm  of 
his  conversation,  his  "den"  was  a  place  to 
browse  about  in.  He  had  a  good  sized  library 
in  which  there  was  very  little  dead  wood. 
Paintings  and  clever  crayons  done  by  the  chil- 
dren in  the  school  were  among  the  most  inter- 
esting of  his  pictures.  Pottery  was  one  of  his 
minor  hobbies  and  there  were  about  twenty- 


Straws  173 

five  pieces  of  the  different  wares  set  in  odd 
corners.  Just  outside,  on  a  small  porch,  he 
kept  some  hardy  flowers. 

"I  can't  keep  looking  out  at  that  smoke,"  he 
said.  "It  becomes  depressing.  I  fight  it  with 
flowers.  The  poor  things  have  nothing  to 
breathe  but  smoke,  though.  They're  only  car- 
bon copies  of  flowers,  but  they  cheer  me  up." 

An  hour  of  entertainment  was  always  cer- 
tain whenever  Father  Coffey  gave  one  of  his 
readings  in  palmistry.  He  had  read  some- 
what on  the  subject,  had  acquired  some  of  the 
phraseology,  and  it  was  no  effort  to  him  to 
assume  the  inspired  manner  of  the  professional 
palmist.  This,  of  course,  was  his  main  reli- 
ance for  the  complete  success  of  the  delusion. 

A  casual  visitor  would  easily  be  led  to  sup- 
pose him  perfectly  serious.  He  opened  the 
session  with  an  impressive  talk  on  the  reality 
of  the  hand's  power  of  expression  of  character. 
Then  in  a  casual  way,  he  would  exemplify  by 
reading  a  hand  of  one  of  the  company.  The 
reading  always  started  off  with  the  magnificent 
qualities  of  the  owner,  portrayed  so  clearly  in 
the  lines  that  they  startled  Father  Coffey  into 
eloquence. 

Just  when  the  client  was  about  ready  to 
vault  into  the  seventh  heaven  with  the  sudden 


174  Straws 

realization  of  the  marvelous  qualities  he  always 
knew  he  possessed,  but  which  never  were  ap- 
preciated before,  he  was  winged  with  the 
solemn  and  single  word  shot  at  him : 

"But "  then  would  follow  a  series  of  re- 
verse qualities  picked  right  off  the  same  hand. 
This  completely  negatived  the  earlier  reading 
and  ran  the  client  with  so  headlong  a  descent 
down  into  the  criminal  class,  that  at  the  close 
of  the  reading  he  felt  like  a  murderer.  Never 
a  smile  out  of  Father  Coffey,  though  the  com- 
pany was  in  pain  with  suppressed  laughter. 
He  must  do  his  duty  here.  He  must  read  just 
what  he  saw,  and  his  manner  and  voice  sug- 
gested that  he  was  indeed  an  oracle.  It  was  a 
scene  worthy  of  the  comedies  of  Shakespeare. 

He  never  read  the  same  hand  twice  in  the 
same  way,  as  the  lines  changed,  he  said,  with 
the  soul's  condition.  So  that  a  hero  one  day 
would  very  likely  be  a  villain  the  next,  and  be 
glad  he  had  thus  far  escaped  the  gallows.  I 
shall  not  forget  the  way  he  used  to  close  many 
of  the  readings  of  uninitiated  clients. 

"The  thumb,"  he  would  say.  "Ah,  the 
thumb — "  this  with  an  intense  stage  whisper  as 
though  the  company  must  not  hear  it.  "It's 
the  thumb  of  a  primitive  hand — the  thumb  of 
a  chimpanzee !" 


Straws  175 

His  subjects  of  conversation  took  a  wide 
range  over  people  and  things.  He  spoke  of 
the  absent  with  respect  and  no  one  could  ap- 
preciate with  more  enthusiasm  the  good  quali- 
ties of  others.  Often  in  the  midst  of  an  in- 
teresting discussion,  he  would  be  interrupted 
by  a  caller.  He  never  delayed,  but  broke  off 
immediately  and  went  down  to  meet  the  per- 
son, greeting  him  cordially  and  taking  up  his 
business  with  no  air  of  preoccupation.  His 
grasp  of  a  situation  was  rapid  and  thorough, 
his  advice  clear  and  decided,  so  that  he  attended 
to  a  great  variety  of  matters  with  an  unworried 
ease  that  was  astonishing. 

In  addition  to  all  this,  he  published  every 
month  the  "Parish  Messenger,"  a  sixteen  page 
booklet.  The  advertising,  the  proof  reading 
and  most  of  the  copy  were  attended  to  by  him- 
self. A  beautiful  poem,  or  a  striking  religious 
thought  in  prose  took  up  the  front  cover  page, 
done  in  color.  The  articles  followed  closely 
the  needs  of  the  times.  He  wrote  frequently 
on  Socialism  in  all  its  aspects,  realizing  that  his 
people  needed  a  regular  antidote  against  that 
particular  form  of  irreligion.  Neither  was  he 
afraid  to  say  what  he  thought  when  political 
bigotry  attacked  the  Church.  He  wrote  on 
friendship  often  and  the  blessings  of  peace  with 


176  Straws 

one  another,  of  the  home,  of  cheerfulness,  of 
the  advantages  of  the  Catholic  Faith. 

Financial  reports  were  made  regularly  in 
the  Messenger  and  the  personal  chat  always 
took  the  note  of  appreciation  of  the  spirit  and 
generosity  of  the  people  of  St.  Agnes'  parish. 
There  was  thankfulness  for  all  favors  done  and 
praise  for  all  worthy  work. 

Father  Coffey  showed  in  this  paper  that  he 
would  have  made  a  striking  writer  and  a  good 
editor.  His  style  was  himself.  He  talked 
with  his  pen.  Directness,  clearness  and  in- 
tensity made  his  articles  interesting  every  line 
of  them  and  worthy  of  the  columns  of  any  jour- 
nal. Humor  is  not  absent  and  the  whole  is 
permeated  with  religious  conviction  and  a 
forceful  piety. 

If  I  could  put  down  here  the  list  of  names 
in  his  financial  report,  nothing  further  would 
be  needed  to  reveal  the  diversity  of  the  nation- 
alities he  was  molding  into  the  best  kind  of 
citizens;  for  he  was  leavening  them  with  the 
grace  of  God  in  the  spirit  of  the  Catholic 
Church. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  LITTLE  ONES 

remains,  too,  a  living  force  for  good 
in  the  limpid  innocence  of  the  children 
he  guarded  with  a  father's  care,"  says  Father 
Powers,  writing  of  Father  Coffey's  work  with 
the  young. 

"No  superintendent  could  take  more  interest 
in  his  school.  He  was  an  inspiration  to  teach- 
ers and  pupils,"  are  the  words  of  one  of  the 
Sisters  who  taught  in  St.  Agnes'  School. 

These  two  brief  statements  indicate  the  al- 
pha and  the  omega  of  all  Catholic  school  work. 
"Interest  in  the  school"  as  the  cause,  must  have 
the  "limpid  innocence  of  the  children"  as  the 
effect;  and  nothing  short  of  this  result  will 
satisfy  the  educational  ideals  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  "Innocence  in  the  children!"  is  her 
first  and  her  most  persistent  demand;  for  she 
knows  'that  without  innocence  there  is  no  edu- 
cation. The  most  unconquerable  ignorance  is 
immorality. 

177 


178  The  Little  Ones 

It  took  no  deep  research  to  see  that  Father 
Coffey  liked  children.  Written  large  on  the 
surface  of  his  activities  was  the  predominating 
interest  in  the  little  ones  of  his  parish.  In  his 
own  nature,  there  was  a  boyishness  that  never 
waned;  and,  with  the  children,  he  could  give  it 
room  for  play.  Besides,  as  he  once  said,  it  was 
the  kind  of  company  that  made  it  easy  for  him 
to  think  of  his  prayers,  "For  of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven." 

For  their  part  the  children  were  completely 
at  home  with  Father  Coffey.  They  would 
walk  right  up  and  talk  to  him  like  little  men 
and  women;  and,  while  they  missed  none  of 
the  humor  and  the  fun  of  the  talking,  it  was 
the  serious  side  of  them  that  appeared  above 
the  rest.  Instinctively  they  caught  the  idea 
that  back  of  the  fun  their  pastor  was  reaching 
out  to  touch  the  best  and  noblest  that  was  in 
them,  because  Father  Coffey  did  not  associate 
with  the  children  for  mere  amusement,  simply 
to  pass  away  the  time  pleasantly. 

Woven  through  the  apparently  aimless  tan- 
gle of  quip  and  jest  and  passing  question,  un- 
obtrusive but  distinctly  felt,  ran  the  unbroken 
threads  of  the  greater  things,  the  continuous 
though  happy  suggestions  of  the  life  of  duty 
that  lay  before  them.  He  met  them  upon  their 


The  Little  Ones  179 

own  level  but  gently  kept  striving  to  raise  them 
higher. 

He  did  not,  therefore,  coddle  the  children  at 
any  time,  but  as  occasion  offered,  told  them 
the  truth,  sometimes  not  the  immediately 
pleasant  truth,  with  all  the  vivid  directness 
that  was  his;  and  they  looked  at  him  with 
open  eyes  and  took  the  truth  understandingly 
and  unflinchingly.  They  knew  he  loved 
them. 

He  avoided  the  other  extreme  as  well,  the 
sense  of  conscious  maturity  of  years  and  super- 
iority of  wisdom.  He  did  not  regard  the 
ofttimes  tumultuous  presence  of  children  with 
a  martyr's  air  of  toleration  of  a  necessary  evil. 
Such  an  attitude  was  not,  in  his  opinion,  a  sign 
either  of  maturity  or  of  superiority.  Icy 
aloofness  had  no  part  in  his  dealings  with  the 
young.  He  was  not  an  advocate  of  the  "Lit- 
tle-children-must-be-seen-and-not-heard"  idea. 
In  order  to  see  them  at  all  properly  he  thought 
they  ought  to  be  heard.  "Out  of  the  mouths 
of  babes"  he  knew  that  perfect  praise  of  God 
could  come,  and  he  gave  his  little  friends  every 
chance  to  reveal  it. 

Practically  he  brought  these  things  to  pass 
with  an  easy  simplicity.  His  visits  to  the  class- 
room were  frequent  but  not  lengthy.  He  did 


180  The  Little  Ones 

not  wish  to  interfere  with  the  continuity  of  the 
teaching.  His  attitude  while  there  was  more 
that  of  a  guest  than  of  a  superior.  With  a 
few  questions  and  a  word  from  the  Sister  he 
found  out  all  he  wished  to  know  about  conduct 
and  studies  and  then  he  left. 

He  watched  particularly  those  children  who 
seemed  to  lack  talent  for  the  school  studies. 
He  talked  with  them,  observed  them  at  their 
play,  and  wherever  they  "let  themselves  out," 
as  he  put  it.  He  believed  that  shyness  often 
kept  children  from  showing  themselves  at  their 
best.  He  obtained  results  from  this  method. 
"A  child  who  lacked  ability  for  brain  work," 
writes  one  of  the  teaching  Sisters,  "was  found 
to  possess  other  qualities.  These  were  gener- 
ally discovered  in  the  ball  game  played  in  the 
alley." 

When  a  teacher  reported  a  child  as  being  a 
hopeless  case,  it  was  taken  over  to  the  rectory 
and  for  some  time  Father  Coffey  gave  the 
child  special  help  and  training.  These  in- 
stances led  him  to  be  a  strong  advocate  for  in- 
dividual help  for  the  backward  pupil,  and  he 
was  looking  forward  to  the  day  when  such  help 
could  be  given  in  St.  Agnes'  School. 

The  children  who  succeeded  were  generously 
and  tactfully  praised.  Father  Coffey  let  them 


The  Little  Ones  181 

know  that  he  appreciated  effort  more  than  suc- 
cess. 

"It  is  the  trying  that  counts  more  than  the 
high  marks,"  he  told  them  often.  "I'd  rather 
have  done  my  best  and  be  low  in  the  class 
standing,  than  be  first  in  the  class  and  not  have 
done  my  best." 

He  was  not  anxious  for  the  children  to  try 
to  be  "first"  in  the  class. 

"It's  a  poor  ideal,"  he  said.  "Later  on, 
when  you  can't  be  first,  you'll  be  tempted  to 
think  yourselves  failures.  And  as  soon  as  you 
think  that,  you  are  failures.  I  don't  want  any- 
body here  to  be  a  failure." 

In  order  to  bring  pupils  to  appreciate  things 
beautiful,  he  encouraged  painting,  drawing 
and  music.  He  would  go  into  the  music  rooms 
and  listen  attentively  to  the  playing,  often  not 
an  easy  task  for  one  who  liked  the  best  music, 
but  he  always  ended  with  a  word  of  commenda- 
tion and  good  cheer. 

He  inspected  the  drawings  and  the  paintings 
and  selected  the  best  of  them  "to  be  hung  in  his 
salon,"  which  meant  his  dining  room.  There 
they  would  be  seen  framed  and  on  exhibition1 
for  his  friends,  until  the  next  selection  would 
be  made  and  a  new  exhibit  started.  Many  of 
the  pieces,  too,  were  sent  to  friends  in  Brook- 


182  The  Little  Ones 

lyn,  which  made  the  children  feel  that  they 
were  getting  into  the  Louvre  or  the  Sistine 
Chapel.  All  of  which  resulted  in  a  great  boom 
for  painting  and  drawing.  For  children  of 
their  age,  their  work  was  excellent. 

At  the  end  of  the  year,  among  other  prizes, 
were  those  for  the  arts.  Father  Coffey  would 
appoint  from  the  men  of  the  town,  a  committee 
of  three,  who  would  solemnly  adjudge  the 
merits  of  the  artists.  He  would  hover  in  the 
background  with  an  appearance  of  great  de- 
tachment, but  at  critical  moments  dropping  a 
remark  that  would  steer  the  judges  whenever 
their  decision  seemed  to  hang  doubtful. 

The  reason  for  this  shameful  tampering 
with  the  ballot  box  was  that  the  prizes  were 
money  prizes  and  wherever  two  pieces  of  work 
were  about  even  in  merit,  Father  Coffey 
wanted  the  money  to  go  to  the  child  that  needed 
it  the  most.  That  child  usually  got  the  money. 

His  financial  backing  in  this  department 
came  from  Mr.  Wisener,  who  had  discovered 
the  school  through  the  artistic  penmanship  of 
one  of  the  little  girls.  From  a  fifty  cent  gift 
for  handwriting,  he  had  risen  gradually  and,  of 
course,  expensively,  to  the  art  section  of  the 
school  until  one  of  Father  Coffey's  latest  Mes- 
sengers announced  him  as  the  donator  of  forty 


The  Little  Ones  183 

dollars  to  be  distributed  for  meritorious  work 
in  painting  and  drawing. 

Father  Coffey  also  watched  attentively  the 
development  of  individual  characters.  The 
restless  age  for  boys  begins  strongly  around 
fifteen.  They  feel  the  school  desk  a  cage,  the 
school  hours  a  prison  sentence,  the  school  disci- 
pline a  ball  and  chain  riveted  on  them.  They 
want  to  get  out  of  there,  away  from  there,  to 
ramble  at  will  over  the  earth.  The  wandering 
spirit  possesses  them  and  they  must  aviate. 

They  throw  down  the  books,  those  inden- 
tures of  their  slavery,  and  if  told  to  take  them 
up  again,  they  paw  up  the  ground  and  pass 
into  the  sulky  stage.  They're  going  to  leave 
school,  that's  all  there's  to  it. 

This  is  a  problem  in  any  school.  When  the 
Sisters  met  a  case  that  they  could  not  manage 
themselves,  they  sent  the  boy  over  to  Father 
Coffey  to  have  a  last  talk  before  jumping  off 
the  cliff.  Father  Coffey  understood  this  phase 
of  a  boy's  life  and  sympathized  with  it. 

"I  know  how  you  feel,  Billy,"  he  would  say. 
"You  feel  rotten." 

"Rotten  is  the  word,  Father.  I  can't  stand 
any  more  school.  I  want  to  go  to  work." 

"But,  Billy,  you  haven't  got  your  education 

yet." 


184  The  Little  Ones 

"I've  got  enough.  Look  at  how  big  I  am 
sittin'  in  those  little  seats!"  says  Billy,  wild 
with  mortification  at  the  thought  of  it. 

"I  know  that,  son.  But  look  at  how  little 
you'll  be  when  you  get  out  there  swinging  a 
big  maul  eight  hours  a  day  and  shoving  freight 
cars  up  and  down  the  track.  The  worst  of  it 
is  you'll  stay  little  all  of  your  life.  You'll 
never  get  a  good  job.  Nowadays  they're  look- 
ing for  a  fellow  with  a  'bean,'  a  boy  who  can 
do  some  thinking.  You  can't  think  if  your 
head  isn't  trained,  and  what  training  have  you 
got?  Just  about  enough  to  drive  a  coal 
wagon !  You  don't  want  to  drive  a  coal  wagon 
for  the  next  fifty  years,  do  you,  Billy?" 

"No,  Father,"  says  Billy,  half  aghast  at  that 
prospect. 

"Listen,  son.  I  was  just  like  you  once.  I 
wanted  to  get  loose,  to  fly  up  in  the  air,  to  trot 
all  over  the  ground;  but  I  had  some  good 
friends.  They  held  me  down  and  I  am  thank- 
ing them  every  day  of  my  life  since.  Xow, 
I'm  your  good  friend  here.  Let  me  hold  you 
down  for  a  while  and  I'll  guarantee  you'll 
never  be  sorry  for  doing  what  I  told  you. 
You'll  do  that,  now,  won't  you,  Billy?" 

"Yes,  Father,  I'll  do  it." 


The  Little  Ones  185 

"Come  on,  now,  and  we'll  go  down  town  and 
have  some  ice  cream." 

"I  don't  want  any  ice  cream  now,  Father. 
I'll  go  back  to  class."  Billy  settled  down  to 
his  books  again,  and,  writes  his  teacher,  "we 
heard  no  more  of  quitting  from  that  quarter." 

Occasionally,  however,  Father  Coffey  met 
defeat.  This  was  when  the  culprit  used 
Father's  own  tactics  against  him. 

Five-year-old  Harry  began  wondering  why 
the  afternoons  in  school  seemed  so  long.  Af- 
ter deep  thought  he  struck  for  shorter  hours  by 
the  simple  plan  of  "bumming"  from  school. 
He  took  the  afternoons  of  a  week  off  visiting 
neighbors.  His  parents  discovered  him  and 
were  greatly  alarmed  at  Harry's  early  start  as 
a  bushranger.  After  chastising  him  them- 
selves, they  asked  Father  Coffey  to  help  them 
in  Harry's  reformation.  Harry  was  called  to 
the  rectory.  He  sat  in  a  little  chair,  looking 
with  round,  sad  eyes  at  Father  Coffey.  The 
pastor  spoke  to  him. 

"Harry,  I  hear  that  you  have  been  running 
away  from  school." 

No  word  out  of  Harry. 

"Don't  you  know  that's  naughty?" 

Still  an  eloquent  silence. 


186  The  Little  Ones 

"And  if  you  run  around  with  nobody  to  help 
you,  don't  you  know  that  some  day  a  big  rho- 
dodendron will  come  galloping  down  the  street 
and  grab  you?" 

A  little  shiver  from  Harry  at  the  thought  of 
the  galloping  rhododendron,  but  no  other  re- 
sponse. 

"Well,  Harry,  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with 
you,"  said  Father. 

Harry  got  up  from  his  chair,  ran  up  to 
Father  Coffey  and  threw  his  arms  about 
Father's  neck  and  kissed  him. 

"I  was  conquered,"  said  he,  telling  the  story 
afterward.  "That  ended  the  correction." 

The  children  liked  to  give  him  presents  and 
he  took  them  for  the  pleasure  they  got  from 
the  giving.  He  carried  about  with  him  a  little 
match  box,  a  Christmas  present  from  a  poor 
boy,  with  as  much  appreciation  of  it  as  of  a 
costly  diamond. 

Their  group  gift  to  him  at  Christmas  time 
was  always  planned  as  a  "surprise."  One  year 
he  mentioned  to  the  Sisters  that  if  the  children 
wanted  to  give  him  a  camera  at  Christmas  it 
would  be  welcome,  but  that  he  desired  to  select 
a  particular  kind. 

"I'll  be  surprised,"  he  said. 

Naturally  a  camera  was  decided  upon  by  the 


The  Little  Ones  187 

children  as  the  mysterious  gift  to  Father  Cof- 
fey.  He  ordered  the  camera  himself,  had  it 
sent  to  the  house  and  examined  it.  Then  he 
sent  it  to  the  school. 

The  presentation  was  made.  Father  was 
delighted  and  very  much  surprised.  On  the 
moment  he  decided  to  take  a  snapshot  of  the 
whole  school  as  they  stood  before  him.  He 
adjusted  the  camera  and  suddenly  discovered 
that  a  part  was  missing. 

"Frank,"  he  said,  forgetting  that  he  had 
been  ^surprised,"  "go  over  to  the  house  and 
get  that  missing  part." 

"Sister,"  asked  the  children,  "how  did  a  part 
of  our  camera  get  over  in  Father's  house?" 
They  were  the  ones  surprised. 

Every  year,  the  children  had  their  Christ- 
mas tree,  trimmed  by  the  young  ladies  of  the 
parish  to  look  like  a  little  corner  of  Paradise, 
and  hung  with  all  kinds  of  glittering  gifts. 
They  had  their  school  picnic,  too,  and  there 
Father  made  the  boys  learn  how  to  wait  on  the 
Sisters,  reversing  the  schoolroom  process. 

We  have  touched  upon  his  spiritual  care  of 
the  children  when  speaking  of  the  general 
parish  devotion.  The  "limpid  innocence"  of 
those  young  souls  testifies  to  the  worth  of  his 
work  there. 


188  The  Little  Ones 

In  addition  to  his  care  that  they  approach 
the  Sacraments  often,  he  impressed  upon  them 
the  necessity  of  much  prayer.  The  Sisters 
took  the  children  to  the  church  at  eight  o'clock 
to  recite  the  rosary.  Frequently  he  would  call 
from  his  front  porch  as  they  were  passing, 
"Sister,  have  them  say  the  beads  for  my  inten- 
tion to-day." 

Their  school  days  over,  he  helped  the  boys  to 
get  positions,  and  followed  them  as  they  grew 
up.  I  remember  inquiring  about  one  of  the 
boys  in  whom  I  was  interested. 

"He  is  working  at  — ,"  he  answered.  "But 
they'll  ruin  him  there  from  all  I  hear  of  the 
place.  I'm  getting  him  another  position." 

It  is  easy  to  conclude  that  in  all  his  dealings 
with  the  Sisters  as  to  the  management  of  the 
school,  there  was  an  entire  absence  of  friction. 
His  admiration  of  the  work  of  Sisters  in  gen- 
eral, and  in  particular  of  those  of  his  own 
school,  was  unbounded  and  was  often  ex- 
pressed. He  did  everything  in  his  power  to 
make  their  heavy  work  lighter  and  to  rob 
teaching  of  its  impending  threat  of  monotony. 
It  was  his  little  kindnesses  that  did  this,  rather 
than  any  spectacular  attempts  at  diversion. 
An  incident  that  occurred  on  his  first  day  in 
Mingo  will  indicate  his  spirit  all  through. 


The  Little  Ones  189 

"Sister  X,  our  music  teacher,"  writes  one  of 
the  Sisters,  "had  been  wishing  for  an  organ  for 
the  school,  but  so  far  there  seemed  to  be  no 
prospect  of  getting  one.  I  think  that  it  was 
during  Father  Coffey's  first  visit  with  us  that 
Sister  mentioned  the  fact.  Father  laughingly 
answered : 

"Sister,  I  am  shipping  an  organ  with  my 
furniture  and  if  you  can  intercept  it  before  it 
reaches  my  house,  you  may  keep  it." 

"My  good  Sister,  nothing  daunted,  took 
Father  at  his  word  and  watched  every  load  of 
furniture  that  came  up  the  hill.  She  was 
about  to  give  up,  when  to  her  joy,  along  comes 
the  dray  with  the  coveted  organ.  She  stepped 
outside  and  ordered  the  driver  to  place  the 
organ  in  the  school. 

"  'It  was  a  plot,'  said  Father  Coffey,  'but  I'll 
enjoy  the  plot  and  I  hope  you'll  enjoy  the 
organ.' ' 

He  loved  music  and  he  had  surrendered  the 
only  musical  instrument  he  possessed. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
AN  ADVENTURE  IN  OIL 

OIL  is  a  synonym  for  smoothness,  but  in 
these  modern  days  it  has  made  rough 
going  for  a  sufficient  number  of  our  progres- 
sive countrymen  who  have  gone  out  to  seek  it, 
if  not  with  the  high  motives  of  a  follower  of  the 
grail,  at  least,  with  the  persistent  hardihood  of 
a  voyager  after  the  "Fountain  of  Youth." 

One  thing  an  oil  boom  will  do  for  any  section 
of  country — it  will  convert  that  land  into  the 
ugliest  territory  under  heaven.  The  land  of 
oil  certainly  does  not  look  like  the  land  of  milk 
and  honey. 

"Ah,"  the  oil  enthusiasts  will  breathe  at  you, 
"it  may  be  homely,  but  it  is  rich.  The  hands 
may  be  the  hands  of  Esau,  but  the  voice  is  the 
voice  of  Jacob.  And  the  sound  of  that  voice 
is  all  we  care  about.  It  sings  grand  opera 
for  us." 

The  oil  boom  struck  Mingo,  shortly  after 
Father  Coif  ey  was  appointed  as  pastor.  The 
whole  district  still  bears  the  marks  of  the  dis- 

190 


An  Adventure  in  Oil  191 

ease.  Hundreds  of  skeleton  derricks,  like 
hideous  gibbets,  stud  the  land  at  intervals  all 
about  the  scene  (in  many  cases  still  active)  of 
feverish  diggings  and  drillings. 

It  is  easy  to  stand  at  a  distance  and  express 
a  cold  detachment  from  oil  wells.  A  differ- 
ence comes  with  the  inhalation  of  the  oil  atmos- 
phere. Only  those  who  have  lived  in  a  com- 
munity blessed,  or  afflicted,  with  oil,  can  pro- 
perly gauge  the  situation,  feel  the  thrill  or  even 
outline  the  experiences.  It  would  take  the 
"movie"  with  its  rapid  succession  of  trans- 
formation, to  convey  the  correct  impressions 
to  the  uninitiated. 

When  the  first  test  around  Mingo  resulted 
in  a  considerable  show  of  oil,  there  was  a  mad 
scramble  for  leases.  The  Widow  Jones,  who 
owned  a  quarter  of  acre  of  weedy  ground,  dis- 
covered after  signing  a  paper  she  could 
scarcely  read,  that  her  shack  was  now  located 
on  "The  Golden  Stream  Oil  and  Gas  Com- 
pany" lease,  with  a  flock  of  agents  making  a 
sortie  on  every  "tenderfoot"  that  came  near 
their  web  and  inviting  said  tenderfoot  after 
payment  of  a  nominal  sum,  a  mere  nothing,  to 
dip  his  barrels  into  the  "golden  stream"  and  to 
fill  them  with  the  food  of  millionaires. 

Most  of  the  leases  were  esteemed  so  valuable 


192  An  Adventure  in  Oil 

that  they  were  held  on  the  basis  of  "sixteenths." 
That  is  to  say,  the  stock  was  divided  into  six- 
teen parts  and  priced  to  cover  the  entire  cost 
of  lease,  drilling  and  equipping. 

Father  Coffey  used  to  tell  of  one  man  who 
had  a  very  small  property.  With  no  means  to 
finance  drilling,  he  organized  a  stock  company 
selling  "sixteenth"  shares  at  one  hundred  and 
seventy-five  dollars. 

A  wild  dash  was  made  for  the  new  spot. 
Investors  tumbled  over  one  another  to  pick  up 
their  fortune  in  oil.  When  this  particular  or- 
ganizer came  to  take  account  of  his  properties, 
he  discovered,  Father  Coffey  said,  that  he  had 
sold  forty-two  "sixteenths."  Drilling  had  be- 
gun and  now  he  stood  facing  the  law  and  per- 
haps a  prison  sentence  for  fraud. 

The  only  escape  was  prayer  and  he  began 
to  pray  God  that  no  oil  would  be  struck  on  his 
land. 

"Any  time  of  the  night,"  said  Father  Coffey, 
"you  could  come  upon  the  old  man  wandering 
around  that  claim  beseeching  the  Lord  that  if 
He  had  put  oil  under  this  lease,  He  would 
drain  it  off  before  the  drill  got  through  the  cap- 
rock.  He  was  the  only  one  in  the  locality  who 
prayed  that  he  might  not  'strike  it  rich.' ' 


An  Adventure  in  Oil  193 

And,  as  Father  Coffey  told  it,  he  was  the 
only  one  who  obtained  his  petition. 

Looking  on  at  a  scene  like  this  and  seeing 
everyone  "squeezing  the  oil  out  of  the  ground 
right  under  his  nose,"  Father  Coffey  began  to 
think.  He  met  men  who,  a  few  months  back 
had  hustled  a  pick  and  shovel,  now  lolling  sar- 
torially  and  senatorially  in  luxurious  automo- 
biles. He  heard  women  whom  he  had  seen 
hanging  out  the  family  wash  and  sweeping  the 
front  sidewalk,  now  languidly  ordering  their 
chauffeurs  and  moaning  about  their  maids  and 
their  oriental  rugs. 

"Is  there  no  balm  in  Gilead?"  thought 
Father  Coffey.  His  mind  was  not  upon  him- 
self but  upon  his  church.  Everyone  else  was 
getting  the  oil.  Why  couldn't  his  parish  have 
some.  Then  he  would  have  the  new  church 
and  the  new  school  and  everybody  would  live 
happily  ever  afterwards. 

"The  Lord  filled  the  widow's  cruse  with 
oil,"  he  said,  "and  we  need  oil  in  this  parish  just 
as  much  as  she  ever  did.  I'm  going  to  pray 
for  something  to  happen  to  us  in  oil." 

Sure  enough,  something  did  happen. 
Friends  who  had  organized  a  local  company 
gave  him  a  present  of  some  stock.  They  "car- 


194  An  Adventure  in  Oil 

ried  him  along  for  luck,"  they  said.  Then  they 
started  drilling  their  first  well. 

"Never  in  my  life,"  said  Father  Coffey, 
"shall  I  forget  the  days  of  that  baby  well. 
The  excitement  was  frightful,  increasing  as 
the  drill  went  down.  We  would  go  out  every 
day  to  see  how  the  work  went  on.  No  reason 
for  our  being  there,  but  we  couldn't  stay  away. 
Talked  oil  all  the  time.  If  anyone  had  asked 
me  how  to  spell  any  word  at  all,  I'd  have  said, 
'O-i-1.'  And  if  eyes  were  drills,  we'd  have 
been  down  a  thousand  feet  in  a  minute. 

"Then  we'd  meet  over  to  one  side  and  dis- 
cuss profoundly  how  we  were  to  dispose  of  our 
profits.  That  new  English  Gothic  church  I 
was  after  became  so  real  that  I  got  to  be  sur- 
prised of  mornings  on  looking  out  my  window 
not  to  see  it  there  on  the  hill.  It  seemed,  in 
fact,  that  each  one  slept  with  a  pad  and  a  pencil 
beneath  his  pillow  so  that  if  he  awoke  in  the 
night,  dreaming  of  a  new  way  to  spend  his 
fortune,  he  might  write  it  down  before  another 
idea  replaced  it." 

The  day  the  well  came  in,  found  all  the  pro- 
moters gathered  around  the  derrick  looking  on 
at  the  last  preparations  before  the  drill  was 
sent  into  the  pay  sand. 

"We    stood    there,"    said    Father    Coffey, 


An  Adventure  in  Oil  195 

"trying  to  assume  that  look  of  stolid  manly  im- 
perturbability, but  inside  we  were  shrieking 
with  excitement." 

The  cap-rock  was  struck.  The  drill  went 
into  the  pay  sand.  Just  heavens!  No  oil! 

"We  took  a  last  look  at  the  corpse,"  con- 
cluded Father  Coffey,  "and  left  like  a  lot  of 
pall  bearers.  I  don't  know  how  I  got  home. 
I  think  I  walked  home  backwards." 

Though  no  oil  had  been  found  and  though 
disappointment  was  keen,  yet  what  was 
strange  to  Father  Coffey  was  the  feeling  of 
confidence  which  quickly  reasserted  itself  in 
all  except  himself.  They  met  again  and 
talked  much  about  the  dead  well.  The  quality 
of  the  sand  was  good  anAthe  quantity  fair. 
They  got  into  a  pleasant  glow  over  that  sand 
which  surely  indicated  oil  nearby. 

Father  Coffey  surveyed  the  group,  now  on 
their  way  to  a  second  jump,  owing  to  the 
splendid  sand  they  got  in  the  dead  well.  They 
poured  so  much  sand  around  him  that  he  finally 
interrupted  them,  saying: 

"Gentlemen,  I  thought  I  was  given  stock 
in  an  oil  company,  but  I  find  I  have  been 
swindled  into  accepting  shares  in  a  sand  bank." 

Other  gifts  of  stock  followed  the  first,  al- 
ways with  the  same  result.  Believing  that  his 


196  An  Adventure  in  Oil 

luck  might  change,  if  he  invested  some  money, 
he  took  a  sixteenth  in  a  well  about  to  be  drilled 
in  West  Viiginia.  A  reputed  authority  on  oil 
prospects  offered  him  a  "sixteenth"  on  what 
was  said  to  be  an  excellent  lease.  Father  Cof- 
fey  took  it.  Not  a  drop  of  oil  anywhere  about, 
"though  I  assisted,"  said  he,  "in  helping  to 
make  a  pin  cushion  of  that  farm." 

One  day  here  when  the  third  or  fourth  dry 
hole  had  "come  in,"  the  field  man  called  a 
meeting  of  the  stockholders.  The  log  of  the 
last  well  was  read  and  as  usual  the  manager 
produced  a  handful  of  fine  sand. 

"We  did  not  hit  oil,  gentlemen,"  he  said, 
"but  we  have  the  finest  sand  in  the  whole 
district.  Put  the  glass  on  it  and  see  for  your- 
selves." 

Father  Coffey,  impatient  of  this  eternal 
sand,  looked  grimly  at  the  few  grains  that  had 
been  poured  into  the  palm  of  his  hand  and 
said: 

"It  has  cost  me  more  to  see  that  sand  than 
to  see  the  whole  of  Europe." 

One  might  imagine  that  such  disastrous  at- 
tempts to  "get  oil"  would  have  discouraged 
him.  Not  so. 

"It  appears  to  me,"  he  said,  "that  I  am  on 
the  wrong  side  of  this  oil  business.  In  every 


An  Adventure  in  Oil  197i 

company  I  am  referred  to  as  the  'party  of  the 
second  part.'  The  party  of  the  first  part  se- 
cures the  lease,  portions  out  the  cost,  signs  the 
beautifully  engraved  certificates,  and  thought- 
fully permits  'party  of  the  second  part'  to  bear 
the  expenses.  I  shall  become  the  'party  of  the 
first  part.' ' 

The  idea  was  more  quickly  realized  than  he 
had  expected.  A  man  whom  Father  Coffey 
had  befriended,  wishing  to  show  his  gratitude, 
as  he  said,  tried  to  get  him  to  induce  friends 
to  invest  in  a  new  company.  Father  Coffey 
investigated  and  discovered  that  the  fellow 
had  no  leases  whatever  in  the  county  he  claimed 
was  largely  his.  During  his  investigation, 
however,  the  same  leases  were  offered  him  and 
thus  within  a  few  short  hours  he  had  reached 
what  seemed  to  him,  from  his  past  experiences, 
the  summit  of  oil  fame.  He  had  become  a 
"party  of  the  first  part." 

The  "party  of  the  first  part"  had  an  agent 
lease  up  about  one  half  of  a  big  county.  It 
didn't  seem  to  matter  much  whether  the  geo- 
logical survey  showed  the  territory  decid- 
edly poor  in  oil  bearing  sands ;  or,  that  for  the 
most  part  only  small  quantities  of  gas  were 
discovered,  barely  sufficient  to  heat  the  farm 
house  adjoining  the  well. 


198  An  Adventure  in  Oil 

His  utter  disregard,  too,  of  so  primary  a 
factor  in  oil  as  "sand"  provoked  endless  amuse- 
ment among  his  friends.  He  never  could  be- 
lieve in  the  necessary  connection  of  the  two. 
So  with  a  magnificent  and  ritual  solemnity 
that  only  a  Father  Coffey  could  lend  to  such 
an  occasion,  he  signed  a  contract  for  a  well  on 
one  of  his  leases. 

The  driller  employed  had  an  outfit  which 
might  possibly  do  to  drill  a  water  well,  but 
never  under  any  circumstances  could  reach 
even  a  shallow  pool  of  oil,  had  one  been  there. 
The  driller  knowing  less  about  the  "party  of 
the  first  part"  than  Father  Coffey  did  about 
him  or  his  rig,  insisted  that  the  money  for  the 
drilling  be  deposited  in  a  bank  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  operations.  Father  Coffey  agreed. 

Accompanied  by  a  friend,  he  went  in  to 
Cleveland,  not  far  from  the  place,  and  not  be- 
ing acquainted  with  any  of  its  banking  insti- 
tutions, wandered  up  and  down,  surveying 
with  a  critical  eye  the  various  banking  houses. 
Finally,  a  massive  pile  with  huge  Corinthian 
columns,  struck  his  eye. 

"That's  the  bank  for  me!"  he  said.  "It  cer- 
tainly looks  strong." 

Entering  the  bank,  he  was  met  by  one  of 
the  officials  to  whom  he  explained  his  business, 


An  Adventure  in  Oil  199 

with  such  impressiveness  that  a  special  trust 
officer  was  detailed  to  wait  upon  him,  and  he 
and  his  friend  were  conducted  to  a  private 
booth. 

"I  am  the  president  of  an  oil  company,"  said 
Father  Coffey  with  the  suave  and  confidential 
condescension  of  a  magnate,  "and  this  is  my 
manager.  We  have  located  new  and  wonder- 
ful oil  bearing  lands  in  this  vicinity  and  we 
contemplate  extensive  operation.  We  shall 
astonish  the  country.  Our  intention  is  to 
make  this  bank  our  sole  depository  and  I  have 
come  to-day  to  make  a  preliminary  deposit, 
merely  to  insure  the  business." 

The  officer  listened  carefully,  with  increas- 
ingly deferential  attention  as  the  language  of 
Father  Coffey  grew  grandiloquent.  At  its 
close  he  was  evidently  expecting  a  first  de- 
posit of  not  less  than  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars.  In  a  most  respectful  tone  the  officer 
finally  came  to  the  point. 

"And  how  much  would  you  like  to  deposit 
with  us?" 

"Just  this  for  to-day,"  said  Father  Coffey, 
"merely  as  a  preliminary,  you  understand." 
And  he  laid  on  the  table  three  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  official,  in  a  tone  of 


200  An  Adventure  in  Oil 

poorly  suppressed  disgust.  "I  understood  you 
to  talk  of  oil  wells.  Perhaps  I  was  mistaken. 
It  must  be  a  water  well  you  are  drilling." 

"Water  well!"  said  Father  Coffey,  with 
hauteur.  "Do  you  think  I  am  a  President  of 
a  Water  Peddlers'  Association?" 

The  money  was  accepted  but  when  the  presi- 
dent and  his  manager  left,  nobody  walked  with 
them  to  the  door. 

"Did  you  see  the  way  he  looked  at  us  when 
we  gave  him  our  money?"  said  Father  Coffey 
to  his  manager  when  they  reached  the  sidewalk. 
"You'd  think  we  were  two  fakirs.  When  our 
wells  begin  to  produce,  we'll  let  him  see  that 
we'll  bank  elsewhere." 

After  a  short  interval,  word  came  that  the 
great  day  had  arrived.  The  well  was  due. 
Early  in  the  morning  after  his  Mass,  he 
lighted  a  lamp  at  each  of  the  little  shrines  in 
the  church  and  told  the  Sister  sacristan  to  keep 
them  burning  all  day.  He  sent  word  to  the 
convent  asking  for  special  prayers  during  the 
day  for  "a  very  important  business  matter." 
Then  with  thrills  of  expectancy  he  left  for  the 
scene,  dreaming  on  the  way  of  the  new  English 
Gothic  church. 

Next  morning  himself  and  his  manager 
stood  at  the  well. 


An  Adventure  in  Oil  201 

"And  how  is  everything  going,  sir?"  said 
Father  Coffey  to  the  driller,  with  the  dignity 
that  befitted  the  President  of  the  Company. 

"We're  down  three  hundred  and  twelve 
feet,"  answered  the  driller.  "And  I'm  sorry 
to  report  that  the  hole  is  flooded  with  water  to 
within  ten  feet  of  the  top." 

"I'm  not  Rebecca  at  the  well,"  said  Father 
Coffey.  "I  came  here  for  oil,  not  water." 

"There's  no  oil  yet,"  said  the  driller. 

Father  Coffey  knew  that  whatever  little  oil 
had  been  discovered  in  that  county  lay  at  a 
depth  of  over  fifteen  hundred  feet.  In  spite 
of  this  he  consults  his  check  book  and  finds  he 
has  funds  enough  to  drill  five  feet  more.  He 
waves  his  hand. 

"Go  down  five  feet  more,"  he  orders,  and 
walks  away  to  survey  his  remaining  leases.  It 
was  like  sticking  one's  finger  in  the  ocean  to 
bring  up  the  Spanish  Armada. 

But  in  spite  of  the  thrills  and  the  humor  of 
it,  Father  Coffey  felt  that  his  adventure  in  oil 
was  drawing  to  a  close.  "I  see  it  plainly,"  he 
said.  "The  Lord  never  intended  a  priest  to 
be  rich." 

He  paid  some  few  bills  for  things  he  never 
before  knew  had  reference  to  the  oil  industry; 
ordered  a  gas  stove  for  a  family  that  had  done 


202  An  Adventure  in  Oil 

him  kindnesses ;  bought  a  ticket  for  home,  and 
purchased  a  pair  of  durable  shoes,  saying: 

"I'll  have  to  walk  to  my  holdings  after  this 
and  I'll  need  to  be  well  shod  to  walk  so  far 
from  home." 

Arriving  home  that  evening  he  passed  the 
Sister  sacristan  on  her  way  from  church.  She 
looked  at  him  inquiringly,  as  though  to  read 
from  his  countenance  the  happy  results  of  her 
care  of  the  shrines  that  day,  and  of  all  the 
prayers  said  for  his  success. 

With  a  stolid  face  he  stalked  by  the  Sister, 
but  just  as  he  passed,  he  said: 

"Blow  out  those  lights." 

This  was  the  last  of  the  oil  boom  for  Father 
Coif  ey.  Gas  was  discovered  on  his  leases  and 
he  got  most  of  his  investment  out  of  it.  The 
rest  he  refused  to  credit  to  the  teachings  of 
experience. 

"Experience  isn't  a  teacher,"  he  said. 
"She's  a  murderer.  She  murdered  my  dreams 
of  a  beautiful  English  Gothic  church." 

His  ideas  of  the  possibilities  in  being  an  oil 
magnate  also  shrunk. 

"Being  'party  of  the  first  part'  is  all  right  in 
theory,"  he  remarked.  "The  trouble  is  that 
there  are  not  enough  people  who  belong  to  the 
'party  of  the  second  part.' ' 


CHAPTER  XVII 
A  SEA  CHANGE 

FATHER  COFFEY  had  been  ten  years 
in  Mingo  and  had  not  taken  what  one 
might  call  a  real  vacation.  His  people  often 
told  him  he  should  go  away  for  a  good  rest  but 
he  kept  postponing  it  until  he  could  feel  that 
he  had  things  as  he  wished  them. 

In  the  summer  of  1914,  he  decided  to  go  to 
Europe  for  a  good  visit,  to  view  historic 
scenes,  to  study  the  immortal  masterpieces  of 
art,  but  above  all  things  to  see  the  Holy 
Father,  Pius  X,  and  to  obtain  his  blessing  for 
himself  and  the  parish  of  St.  Agnes. 

For  a  time  after  he  made  the  decision  to  go, 
he  was  in  the  happiest  mood  and  in  conversa- 
tion he  would  often  remark  to  his  friends, 
"Just  wait  till  I  go  to  Europe."  However,  as 
the  time  approached  for  his  departure,  they 
noticed  that  his  gayety  lessened  and  he  began 
to  feel  lonesome  at  leaving  the  parish. 

"If  my  ticket  were  not  bought,"  he  now  said, 

203 


204  A  Sea  Change 

"I  should  not  go  at  all.     I  think  I  am  getting 
'cold  feet'." 

Before  he  left,  an  entertainment  was  ar- 
ranged for  him  and  the  parish  presented  him 
with  a  purse  as  a  token  of  their  appreciation 
of  his  work  among  them.  He  strove  to  thank 
them,  but  he  was  so  overcome  with  emotion 
that  his  voice  failed.  They  had  never  seen  him 
moved  so.  Indeed,  the  parting  was  equally 
felt  on  both  sides. 

Once  he  started  his  journey,  however,  he 
enjoyed  it  thoroughly,  never  forgetting  by 
cards  and  messages  to  keep  in  touch  with  his 
parish  and  to  have  them  share  in  his  pleasure. 
On  the  boat  he  soon  became  known  among 
the  passengers  and  his  affability  and  usual  wit 
made  the  voyage  a  delight.  The  letters  that 
came  to  his  family  after  his  death  from  passen- 
gers who  had  met  him  for  the  first  time  on  this 
trip,  reveal  the  lasting  impression  he  had  made 
upon  them. 

On  the  way  over  an  incident  occurred  that 
serves  to  reveal  Father  Coffey  in  two  charac- 
teristic phases  of  his  character. 

Among  the  passengers  was  a  lady  who  was 
in  a  very  sad  state  of  depression.  She  had 
been  bereft  of  a  favorite  nephew,  who  was  to 


A  Sea  Change  205 

her,  she  said,  as  a  son.  Her  grief  was  piercing 
and  so  continuous  and  so  much  in  evidence  that 
it  threatened  to  cast  a  shadow  over  the  whole 
voyage.  The  passengers  did  all  they  could  to 
cheer  her,  and  to  distract  her  mind  from  its 
mournful  brooding.  They  failed  completely. 
The  more  they  tried,  the  more  despairing  she 
became  until  they  were  themselves  infected 
with  the  gloom. 

Father  Coffey  noted  this  unusual  condition 
of  melancholy  and  set  himself  to  bring  cheer 
and  comfort  to  the  wounded  heart.  He 
wished  not  only  to  relieve  the  suffering  soul  but 
to  prevent  the  passengers  from  losing  the 
pleasure  of  their  trip. 

Through  a  considerable  part  of  two  days  he 
tried  to  suggest  consoling  thoughts,  advising 
prayer  and  resignation.  He  made  no  visible 
progress.  The  lady  still  weltered  in  grief. 
The  evening  of  the  second  day,  one  of  the  pass- 
engers spoke  to  him  and  said : 

"Father,  how  goes  the  patient?" 

"Worse,  if  anything,"  replied  Father  Cof- 
fey. "I  am  a  dismal  failure." 

"And  I  think  you  will  remain  so,"  said  the 
passenger.  "Do  you  know  when  this  nephew 
died?" 


206  A  Sea  Change 

"No,  sir,  I  do  not,"  said  Father  Coffey. 

"He  died  just  seventeen  years  ago,  Father," 
said  the  passenger. 

That  was  enough  for  Father  Coffey,  as  well 
as  for  the  nephew.  He  went  immediately  to 
find  the  Lady  of  Tears. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "I  am  given  to  under- 
stand that  this  nephew  of  yours  is  dead  seven- 
teen years.  Now  I  have  two  strong  sailors 
hired  on  this  boat  and  the  next  whimper  from 
you  on  this  voyage,  at  a  signal  from  me,  they 
are  going  to  throw  you  overboard." 

That  was  the  end  of  the  Clouded  Lady. 
She  was  a  professional  sob  artist  seeking  the 
spot  light. 

Father  Coffey's  route  was  the  usual  one  fol- 
lowed by  tourists,  with  Rome  the  end  in  view. 
When  he  arrived  there,  he  found,  to  his  great 
regret,  that  the  Holy  Father  was  in  his  last 
illness  and  had  ceased  to  receive  all  visitors. 
Among  the  friends  he  made  in  Rome  was  the 
late  Father  Charles  Macksey,  the  American 
Jesuit,  a  professor  in  the  Gregorian  Univers- 
ity. He  often  spoke  of  Father  Macksey  with 
high  regard. 

The  war  now  broke  out  and  Father  Coffey 
was  compelled  to  shorten  his  vacation  and  to 
hurry  home.  He  embarked  at  Naples  for  the 


A  Sea  Change  207 

return.  This  was  a  voyage  of  a  different  char- 
acter from  the  voyage  out.  The  passengers 
were  tense  with  nervousness.  They  were  in 
the  war  zone,  with  the  possibility  of  an  attack 
at  any  moment  from  above,  from  below,  from 
all  quarters  of  the  horizon.  Every  speck  on 
the  sea  was  the  periscope  of  a  submarine; 
every  unusual  noise  an  airplane;  every  whisp 
of  cloud  the  smoke  from  a  hostile  battleship. 

Father  Coff  ey  had  plenty  to  do  in  removing 
their  fears  and  steadying  their  nerves.  The 
following  reminiscence  from  the  Reverend  Dr. 
Edwin  E.  Rogers,  Rector  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church  in  Bowling  Green,  Ohio,  will  convey 
to  us  an  idea  of  the  poise  of  Father  Coffey  in 
time  of  danger,  and  at  the  same  time  of  his 
quick  thoughtfulness  for  others. 

"I  first  met  Father  Coffey,"  writes  Dr. 
Rogers,  "on  board  ship  the  morning  after  we 
left  Naples  late  the  night  before.  During  the 
days  we  were  in  Naples,  seeking  passage  home, 
all  sorts  of  rumors  concerning  the  war  were 
afloat,  and  every  one  was  somewhat  nervous. 
While  looking  at  a  queer  appearing  craft  in  the 
distance,  I  became  conscious  that  some  one  was 
near,  and  looking  up  saw  Father  Coffey.  We 
at  once  entered  into  conversation,  and  an  ac- 
quaintance commenced  which  became  more  and 


208  A  Sea  Change 

more  intimate  until  we  bade  each  other  good- 
by,  September  22nd,  on  the  pier  in  New  York." 

"During  our  companionship,  we  talked 
freely  upon  all  kinds  of  subjects.  Sometimes 
we  discussed  our  theological  views;  at  other 
times  the  problems  which  confronted  us  in  our 
parishes,  and  again  our  experiences  in  dealing 
with  certain  phases  of  irreligion.  In  these 
conversations  there  was  an  unusual  frankness 
and  cordiality,  and  never  for  a  moment  was 
manifest  the  slightest  controversial  spirit.  As 
I  recall  our  talks,  he  appears  before  me  as  a 
brother  Christian  with  a  great  heart,  which  was 
warm  towards  all  that  was  right. 

"I  especially  recall  the  conversation  of  one 
morning.  I  had  asked  him  whether  in  Amer- 
ica, and  in  our  day,  he  found  his  young  people 
at  all  restless  under  the  Confessional.  During 
the  somewhat  lengthy  conversation  I  learned 
much  of  the  working  of  this  institution  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  and  saw  more  of  its 
advantages  than  I  had  ever  before  seen. 

"On  another  occasion  we  were  discussing 
the  drinking  habits  formed  by  some  of  our 
young  men.  He  condemned  the  saloon,  con- 
sidering it  as  a  source  of  great  evil  and  an  in- 
fluence which  led  astray  many  a  young  man. 
He  spoke  of  his  endeavor  to  counteract  this 


A  Sea  Change  209 

influence  and  keep  his  young  men  sober.  For 
some  time  when  a  young  man  appeared  for 
Confirmation  he  required  him  to  sign  a  pledge 
that  he  would  not  drink  intoxicating  liquors 
until  he  was  twenty-one  years  old.  The  plan 
worked  in  quite  a  satisfactory  manner. 

"Father  Coffey  on  many  occasions  mani- 
fested a  ready  wit.  Only  a  few  of  his  sayings 
at  this  time  am  I  able  to  recall.  One  morning 
as  we  were  walking  the  ship's  deck,  under  an 
awning,  we  noticed  that  while  it  was  raining, 
and  the  sea  was  rough,  the  crew  was  busily 
painting  the  smoke-stack.  This  was  black 
with  a  red  band,  and  now  they  were  painting  it 
a  dull  gray.  Everyone  was  nervous,  as  no 
explanations  were  given  for  the  change.  A 
young  lady  met  us  and  anxiously  asked: 

"  'What  does  that  mean?  Are  there  Ger- 
man boats  near? ' 

"We  were  aboard  an  English  steamer  and 
did  not  care  to  meet  German  boats.  Father 
Coffey  made  some  general  remark,  then  added 
something  to  this  effect: 

"  'The  news  this  morning  is  more  assuring. 
The  wireless  tells  us  that  the  entire  Swiss  navy 
has  sailed  from  port,  commissioned  to  devas- 
tate the  valley  of  the  Rhine.  And  another 
item  is  that  some  Irish  battleships  are  sailing, 


210  A  Sea  Change 

loaded  with  three  thousand  heavy-armed 
Irishmen,  who  are  thoroughly  aroused,  and  are 
bound  for  the  German  front,  anxious  to  be  in 
the  fight.  When  the  Prussians  meet  these  fel- 
lows they  will  turn  and  flee  for  Berlin/ 

"The  lady  appeared  comforted,  and  hastened 
away  to  impart  the  inspiring  news  to  other 
despondents.  As  we  walked  on,  Father  Cof- 
f ey  remarked : 

'You  know  some  one  has  to  say  something 
of  this  sort  to  keep  these  poor  mortals  from 
hysteria.' ' 

Meantime  in  Mingo,  everyone  from  the  little 
children  to  the  oldest  folk  of  the  parish,  was  on 
tiptoe  for  the  return  of  Father  Coffey.  He 
had  kept  them  fully  informed  of  all  his  move- 
ments. 

It  was  planned  that  the  day  Father  arrived 
in  Mingo  the  children  should  go  to  the  depot 
in  a  body  to  meet  him.  They  were  to  march 
there  in  ranks,  everything  nice  and  orderly. 

"Needless  to  say,"  writes  the  Sister  who 
tells  us  this  story,  "there  was  very  little  done 
with  the  lessons  that  day.  Just  as  they  lined 
up  ready  to  march,  some  one  called: 

"  'There's  Father  Coffey  coming  up  the 
hill.'  With  that,  the  children  gave  one  bound. 
Ranks  were  flung  to  the  winds  and  all  the 


A  Sea  Change  211 

teachers  could  see  were  heels,  as  the  children 
ran  down  the  hill  to  extend  their  greeting  in 
their  own  fashion.  He  had  come  on  a  train 
just  ahead  of  the  one  we  expected. 

"The  Sisters  were  waiting  at  the  convent. 
The  first  signs  of  the  advance  were  several 
boys  pulling  a  little  express  wagon  which  con- 
tained Father's  two  suit  cases.  Then  they 
knew  he  had  arrived.  A  moment  more  and 
three  hundred  children,  with  Father  in  the 
midst  of  them,  turned  the  corner  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill. 

"All  the  people  were  out  to  extend  a  warm 
welcome  and  as  he  passed  by  them  he  had  to 
greet  each  of  them  from  the  center  of  the  crowd 
of  children.  When  Father  stopped  the  chil- 
dren stopped,  and  when  he  crossed  the  street 
and  came  close  enough  for  us  to  appreciate 
the  situation,  it  was  a  sight  to  behold. 

"Each  child  seemed  to  think  he  should  have 
the  privilege  of  being  as  near  to  Father  as 
possible.  A  number  of  them  were  holding 
him  by  the  hands.  Others  satisfied  themselves 
by  catching  hold  of  his  coat  and  trousers.  It 
was  laughable,  as  Father  Coifey  rarely  found 
himself  in  a  predicament  where  he  was  unable 
to  help  himself.  But  this  time  he  was 
swamped. 


212  A  Sea  Change 

"Walking  was  difficult  and  it  is  no  wonder 
that  his  face  was  as  rosy  as  an  apple.  By  pa- 
tiently picking  his  way  step  by  step,  he  finally 
reached  the  convent  and  the  first  words  the 
Sisters  heard  him  say  were: 

"  'My  God,  this  is  worse  than  the  war!' 

"In  order  to  free  himself  from  the  children 
he  came  up  the  convent  steps,  looked  out  at 
the  children  and  at  the  people  and  thanked 
them  for  their  kindness  to  him. 

"  'To-morrow,'  he  said,  'we'll  have  a  grand 
reunion  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  everything.' 

"Then  he  said  to  the  children,  'Children,  I 
have  been  free  for  two  months  and  I  think  you 
ought  to  have  a  day.  You're  free  now  for  the 
rest  of  the  day.  Beat  it  right  away.' ' 

Amid  shrill  and  merry  shouts,  the  children 
"beat  it." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
.TRADE  TILL  I  COME 

fTlHERE  is  no  man,  perhaps,  taking  him  as 
JL  a  class,  who  is  more  thoroughly  uncon- 
scious of  the  good  he  does,  than  the  parish 
priest.  There  is  a  supernatural  reason  for 
this — and  a  natural.  For  the  priest  believes 
that  as  a  messenger  of  God's  Gospel  and  a  dis- 
penser of  God's  grace  through  the  Sacra- 
ments, he  is  merely  an  instrument  in  the  Divine 
hands  and,  therefore,  he  rightly  attributes  all 
ultimate  work  to  God.  "I  plant,"  he  says 
with  St.  Paul,  "Apollo  waters,  but  God  gives 
the  increase."  Always  present  to  his  mind, 
too,  are  the  words  of  Christ — "Without  Me, 
you  can  do  nothing."  These  words  hold  for 
every  human  being,  it  is  true,  but  the  priest, 
like  Paul,  takes  them  to  himself  in  a  special 
manner  as  a  particular  warning  against  the 
possible  temptation  of  attributing  to  himself 
any  of  the  final  results  of  his  high  ministry. 

From  a  natural  standpoint,  also,  there  is  a 
reason  for  his  unconsciousness  of  doing  great 

213 


214  Trade  Till  I  Come 

good.  The  priest  does  not  see  his  work.  He 
does  indeed  build  churches  and  schools;  but 
should  you  make  comment  upon  this,  he  will 
tell  you  that  it  is  the  Sisters  who  are  doing  the 
good,  under  God,  in  the  school,  and  that  God, 
too,  is  fashioning  the  souls  in  the  church.  As 
for  the  buildings  themselves,  they  are  simply 
the  shells  within  which  the  work  is  done. 
"Anyone  can  build,"  he  will  say. 

He  moves  about  among  his  people,  indeed, 
and  cares  for  them  day  after  day ;  but  when  the 
very  last  touch  is  given  that  the  priest  knows 
means  the  life  of  the  soul,  it  is  invisible  to  him 
and  he  knows  that  touch  has  not  been  his  own. 
So  he  goes  ahead  with  his  steady  routine, 
busied,  as  far  as  his  immediate  natural  view 
carries  him,  with  the  little  things.  A  line 
added  here,  a  corner  rounded  off  there,  like 
Michael  Angelo  with  his  statue.  Only,  the 
priest  sees  not  that  line  nor  that  rounded  cor- 
ner, nor  can  he  step  back  at  any  time  and  con- 
template with  satisfaction  the  finished  work. 
He  may  have  a  general  sense  that  things  go 
well  in  the  parish,  that  Mr.  Brown  or  Mrs. 
Black  is  doing  better  now  than  formerly,  that 
Billy  and  Margaret  are  improving  and  give 
promise  of  growing  into  fine  manhood  or 
womanhood;  but  at  best  the  vision  is  vague, 


Trade  Till  I  Come  215 

misted  over  with  uncertainty  to  the  natural 
sight,  and  clear  only  to  the  eye  of  faith. 

The  parish  priest  has  not  the  natural  ad- 
vantage of  knowing  just  how  his  work  is  going. 
He  cannot  tap  the  fruit  to  see  its  ripeness. 
He  has  no  gauge  to  measure  accurately  the 
contents  of  a  soul;  no  speedometer  to  register 
its  actual  forward  movement.  He  plants,  he 
waters,  but  the  increase  he  must  perforce  leave 

with  God. 

• 

The  professor  can  quiz  his  class  and  ascer- 
tain just  how  each  individual  has  seized  his 
lectures;  the  speaker,  by  his  visible  sway  over 
his  hearers,  the  artist  through  his  critics,  the 
man  of  business  from  his  cash  box  can  esti- 
mate, each  one,  his  location  as  accurately  as  the 
sailor  finds  his  latitude  and  longitude.  With 
the  parish  priest  it  is  not  so.  He  is  so  close 
to  his  work  that  he  cannot  see  it  in  perspective 
and  the  key  to  its  real  progress  is  held  in  an- 
other world. 

An  observant  outsider  can  value  the  parish 
priest's  total  work  much  better,  even  though 
he  cannot  see  the  multitude  of  infinitesimal 
touches  that  brought  that  total  into  being.  As 
a  missionary  who  has  moved  about  for  some 
years  in  this  particular  field  of  parishes,  I  con- 
sider myself  exceptionally  fortunate  in  having 


216  Trade  Till  I  Come 

been  able  to  get  at  least  a  bird's-eye  view  of 
this  wonderful  work  of  the  parish  priest.  The 
persistent  leavening  vitality  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  as  witnessed  in  this  medium,  came  to 
me  as  a  revelation.  I  had  the  belief  before 
this,  of  course,  that  such  was  the  fact;  but  it 
was  something  almost  in  the  abstract,  a  mere 
adumbration  of  the  reality  that  rose  before  me 
with  the  vision  of  the  actual  work. 

The  contrast  between  a  district  that  has  its 
priest  and  one  that  has  not,  is  as  sharp  as  the 
difference  between  black  and  white.  To  re- 
turn to  a  parish  after  some  years  and  to  note 
the  steadily  higher  tides  of  grace  flooding  that 
little  world  of  souls,  forces  one  to  cry  out, 
"This  is,  indeed,  the  great  work  of  the  Cath- 
olic Church!  This  is  the  great  answer  to  the 
apostolic  call,  'Go  forth  and  teach  all  nations, 
baptizing  them  in  the  name  of  the  Father  and 
of  the  Son  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost.' ' 

Yet  if  one  were  to  ask  any  priest  what  he  is 
doing,  he  would  answer,  "Planting,  watering; 
'things  of  the  common  hour/  ' 

Father  Coifey  was  such  a  priest.  We  have 
looked  closely  enough  upon  his  life  to  see  a 
man  of  unwavering  faith,  of  supreme  unselfish- 
ness, of  universal  appeal,  of  resolute  buoyancy 
and  a  penetrating  intelligence,  devoting  the 


Trade  Till  I  Come  217 

best  that  was  in  him  to  an  uninterrupted  suc- 
cession of  little  things.  He  had  no  desire  for 
notoriety,  for  change,  for  prominent  position. 
Because  he  felt  that  God  had  already  put  him 
in  what  He  judged  was  the  most  prominent 
position  possible  in  the  world  of  men — close  to 
human  souls.  He  never  showed  the  least 
yearning  for  anything  else  except  this  work  of 
the  Good  Shepherd;  and  when  we  come  to 
think  of  it,  the  noblest  action  of  the  good  shep- 
herd in  the  parable,  was  that  little  thing  of 
going  after  the  lost  sheep. 

We  have  not  wished,  therefore,  to  present 
Father  Coffey  as  a  man  apart  from  the  body 
of  the  priesthood.  He  was  unique,  it  is  true, 
and  decidedly  individual.  But  every  man  is 
this,  though  it  may  not  always  be  caught  at 
first  glance.  The  essential  work  that  Father 
Coffey  did  is  the  work  of  all  priests,  each  one 
approaching  it  in  his  own  fashion,  each  one 
differing  in  personal  gifts  and  opportunities 
but  all  with  a  like  devotion  to  the  cause  and  a 
like  capacity  for  sacrifice.  For  they  are  all 
modeled  on  the  Great  High  Priest,  Jesus 
Christ. 

"Were  I  permitted  to  use  but  a  single  word 
in  defining  Father  Coffey's  character,"  says 
Father  Powers  in  his  In  Memoriam,  "I  would 


218  Trade  Till  I  Come 

say  that  he  was  priestly,  which  means  that 
should  duty  call  him  to  face  danger,  he  would 
not  turn  on  his  heel  to  save  his  life." 

That  is  the  sum  of  Father  Coffey's  life.  It 
was  his  sole  aim,  his  only  ambition,  to  be  like 
Christ,  and  it  is  the  sole  ambition  of  every  good 
priest  as  well. 

No  matter  where  he  was,  or  what  doing,  this 
sense  of  priestliness  in  Father  Coffey  was 
never  missed  by  any  who  had  dealings  with 
him,  whether  they  were  Catholics  or  not. 
When  his  people  lost  him,  they  mourned  for 
him  as  a  dear  friend  but  especially  as  their 
priest. 

They  were  soon  to  lose  him.  Contrary  to 
all  appearances,  Father  Coffey's  health  had 
never  been  robust.  We  can  recall  how  in  his 
home  letters  from  college,  he  used  to  mention 
his  headaches.  He  never  made  a  specialty  of 
health  talk,  regarding  it  as  a  rather  self-cen- 
tered subject,  and  it  played  no  part  in  his  con- 
versations with  his  friends.  He  suffered  much 
more,  however,  than  any  one  of  them  suspected. 
His  stomach,  too,  gave  him  much  trouble; 
though  with  his  perennial  sunniness  of  temper, 
he  concealed  all  dangerous  symptoms  from 
those  about  him  until  the  end. 

The  last  letter  I  received  from  him  was 


Trade  Till  I  Come  219 

written  about  a  month  before  his  death. 
Though  the  shadow  was  hanging  over  him 
then,  there  was  apparently  not  a  cloud  in  the 
sky. 

He  wrote  it  during  Christmas  week,  just  af- 
ter his  parish  had  presented  him  with  an  auto- 
mobile, planned  by  them  as  a  "surprise"  gift, 
but  which  we  can  see  from  the  letter,  they 
failed  to  keep  hidden  from  him. 

The  name  "Billy"  in  the  address  is  a  rem- 
iniscence of  the  mission  given  in  his  parish 
three  years  before,  which  coincided  with  a  re- 
vival given  in  Steubenville  by  Evangelist  Sun- 
day. Father  Coffey  playfully  transferred  the 
name  to  me.  It  was  his  fashion  among  his 
friends  to  re-baptize  them  with  whimsical 
names,  as  a  mark  of  his  humorous  affection. 

THIBET,  December  27,  1915. 
My  Dear  Billy: 

It  is  very  late  but  I  must  get  a  Christmas 
letter  to  you,  or  be  ashamed  of  myself  for  a 
long  time.  Your  card,  your  letter  and  your 
book  came.  Thanks  for  all,  the  book  espe- 
cially. It  is  so  fascinating  and  so  practical 
that  I  shall  read  it  to  the  upper  grades  in  the 
school  and  then  place  it  in  the  school  library. 

Well,  that  dinner  at  Father  Kenny's.     I 


220  Trade  Till  I  Come 

looked  forward  to  the  affair  with  much  pleas- 
ure and  was  certain  I'd  be  there;  but  the  awful 
cold  I  contracted  in  September  was  at  its 
worst  about  that  time,  and  though  I  had  hoped 
till  the  last  that  I  might  take  a  chance,  yet  the 
view  of  all  that  was  to  come  on  me  at  Christ- 
mas compelled  me  to  give  up  the  idea,  and  I 
was  a  boor  the  whole  day  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  week  because  I  did  not  get  to  ParnelTs 
Pink  Tea. 

The upon  whom  I  relied  for  a  man  at 

Christmas,  failed  me  at  the  last  moment.  I 
suppose  the  fault  was  mine.  I  thought  they 
knew  I  wanted  a  man,  and,  not  hearing  from 
me  till  too  late,  they  supposed  I  had  engaged 
someone  else  so  I  had  to  face  the  job  alone, 
and,  believe  me,  I  was  a  sick  boy. 

I  got  through  all  right  and  after  it  had  the 
pleasantest  Christmas  that  ever  arrived  in  my 
variegated  career.  I  had  Father  Dooley  and 
my  cousin,  Jim  Coffey,  now  a  newspaper  man, 
for  dinner  and  it  was  the  most  delightful  party 
imaginable. 

After  dinner  Dooley  donated  his  Primitive 
Hand  to  Coffey,  assumed  yours,  and  I  insisted 
on  keeping  my  artistic  manipulator  in  spite  of 
every  protest  from  the  parties  to  the  second 
part. 


Trade  Till  I  Come  221 

That  seance  lasted  from  two-thirty  to  three- 
thirty  and  at  four  I  was  called  over  to  the 
school  to  be  "surprised."  The  auto  was  there, 
a  seven  passenger  Studebaker!  So  was  a 
delegation  of  about  a  hundred,  in  the  midst  of 
a  blinding  snow  storm.  They  came  from 
Steubenville  and  Mingo  and  were  composed 
of  Jews,  Gentiles,  pagans,  besides  my  parish 
of  Slavs,  Hungarians,  and  descendants  of 
Brian  Boru,  who  will  always  be  found  some- 
where near  the  priest. 

The  gathering  was  genuinely  cosmopolitan. 
Father  Dooley  made  the  speech  of  presenta- 
tion. I  made  one  in  response  and  before  the 
cigars  were  passed — the  cigars  were  gifts  to 
me  from  misguided  friends — and  whilst  the 
enthusiasm  was  at  its  highest  point,  I  ap- 
pointed a  committee  to  be  augmented  ad  in- 
definitum,  to  supply  me  with  gasoline  and  tires 
for  one  year.  Rejoicing  they  fell  for  it.  So 
the  car  is  a  free  will  gift  for  a  whole  year. 
Wasn't  that  clever  for  a  poor  simple  thing  like 
me?  O  Billy,  would  that  I  had  your  brass! 

After  that,  away  we  went  for  a  spin  over 
the  hills  and  into  the  beautiful  valleys  of  this 
beautiful  Ohio  country.  The  snow  had 
stopped  and  we  had  fine  roads  for  the  first  trip, 
anyway. 


222  Trade  Till  I  Come 

Besides  giving  me  the  auto  and  supporting 
it  for  a  year,  Santa  was  most  generous — so 
generous  that  I  shall  leave  for  Florida,  on  a 
free  trip  as  soon  as  I  can  go  after  the  feast  of 
St.  Agnes.  That  will  freshen  me  up  for  my 
work  wonderfully. 

Joking  aside,  all  I  can  say  is,  these  people 
are  too  good  to  me.  I  would  not  change  them 
for  any  people  I  know.  I  am  perfectly  con- 
tented in  Mingo  and  if  I  leave  Mingo,  it  will 
be  for  the  grave. 

This  is  all  the  news  for  you,  Billy.  The  oil 
or  gas  well  is  still  in  the  hands  of  St.  Rita  and 
the  Little  Flower.  Next  week  must  decide. 

Come  with  me  and  Father  Dooley  and  Cof- 
fey  on  an  auto  tour  next  summer.  It  will  cost 
you  nothing.  Atlantic  City,  Long  Beach, 
Massachusetts  and  Vermont  is  the  outline  at 
present.  Come ! 

Adieu,  dear  Father. 

Fraternally  yours, 
DANIEL  ALBERT. 

Father  Coff ey  hardly  ever  used  the  automo- 
bile and  never  took  the  trip  to  Florida.  In  a 
few  weeks  he  was  destined  to  leave  Mingo,  as 
he  said,  "for  the  grave." 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  LAST  ROAD 

"fTlHERE  are  some  occurrences  to  which 
JL  it  is  hard  to  become  reconciled  and 
against  which  our  hearts  continue  to  protest. 
Father  Coffey's  death  is  one  of  these.  So 
kind,  so  gentle,  so  full  of  life  and  energy,  it 
is  hard  to  think  of  him  as  one  who  is  no  more 
among  the  living.  Having  always  given 
pleasure  to  his  friends  and  never  pain,  the 
thought  that  death  was  near  him,  never  entered 
our  mind.  Master  as  he  was  of  laughter,  of 
cheerfulness  and  mirth,  one  could  scarcely 
think  of  death  while  in  his  presence,  much  less 
associate  it  with  his  engaging  personality. 

"And  still  it  is  true  that  he  is  with  us  no 
longer.  It  is  true  that  this  genial,  whole- 
souled  priest  of  God,  whom  everyone  knew 
and  loved,  is  a  memory,  instead  of  a  presence. 
But  what  a  memory!  A  memory  around 
which  profusely  cluster  the  endearing  qualities 
of  his  richly-gifted  soul.  A  memory  bright 

223 


224  The  Last  Road 

with  sunshine  and  musical  laughter  and  rich 
with  deeds  of  kindness." 

These  words  of  Father  Powers  in  his  In 
Memoriam  eloquently  reveal  to  us  the  sorrow 
and  the  consternation  and  the  sense  of  loss  of 
every  heart  that  knew  Father  Coffey,  when 
they  heard  the  news  of  his  sudden  death. 

The  end  came  more  swiftly  than  these  words 
which  tell  of  it.  There  was  no  preliminary 
symptom,  no  immediate  warning. 

On  February  4, 1916,  Father  Coffey  was,  as 
usual,  about  his  parish,  attending  to  all  his 
work.  In  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  Father 
Dooley,  one  of  Father  Coffey's  most  intimate 
friends,  called  from  Steubenville  for  a  short 
visit.  At  its  close,  Father  Coffey  accom- 
panied him  down  the  hill  to  the  street  car,  chat- 
ting pleasantly  all  the  way.  At  the  post- 
office  corner,  they  waited  together  for  the  car 
which  presently  came  along.  They  said  good- 
by,  and  Father  Dooley  moved  into  the  street 
toward  the  car.  As  he  was  about  to  step 
aboard,  he  turned  for  a  last  greeting  to  his 
friend,  who  had  been  standing  on  the  curb. 
He  did  not  see  Father  Coffey.  He  looked 
again  and  then  saw  that  Father  Coffey  had 
fallen  to  the  sidewalk.  Father  Dooley  hurried 
back  and  perceived  at  once  that  it  was  the  end. 


The  Last  Road  225 

He  tried  to  talk  to  Father  Coffey  but  there 
was  no  answer.  He  gave  the  last  absolution 
and  said  the  prayers  for  the  dying.  In  a  mo- 
ment Father  Coffey  died. 

He  had  said  his  daily  Mass  that  morning 
and  perhaps,  if  the  choice  were  given  him,  he 
would  have  chosen  the  manner  of  death  that 
God  had  decreed  for  him  to  fall  and  die  under 
the  cross.  He  died  among  the  people  he  loved 
most,  with  one  of  his  best  friends  near  him, 
with  a  priestly  hand  to  bless  him  as  he  went. 
And  his  last  action  was  the  characteristic  one 
of  courteous  hospitality. 

The  lines  of  the  poet,  Lionel  Johnson,  might 
have  been  written  of  Father  Coffey : 

As  one  of  us,  he  wrought 
Things  of  the  common  hour: 
Whence  was  the  charmed  soul  brought, 
That  gave  each  act  such  power; 
The  natural  beauty  of  a  flower? 

Magnificence  and  grace, 

Excellent  courtesy; 

A  brightness  on  the  face, 

Airs  of  high  memory; 

Whence  came  all  these  to  such  as  he? 

No  man  less  proud  than  he, 
Nor  cared  for  homage  less; 
Only,  he  could  not  be 


226  The  Last  Road 

Far  off  from  happiness ; 
Nature  was  bound  to  his  success. 

Weary,  the  cares,  the  jars, 

The  lets,  of  every  day ; 

But  the  heavens  filled  with  stars, 

Chanced  he  upon  the  way : 

And  where  he  stayed,  all  joy  would  stay. 


THE  END 


PBIKTED  BY  BEIfZIGER  BBOTHERS,   XETT  YOBK. 


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